lawfully married wife
by NickyFox13
Summary: Hermione Granger, alongside all of Wizardkind in Great Britain and Northern Island, must participate in the marriage law. According to the Ministry, this is the best way to repopulate and rekindle history. Hermione gets swept up in the whole thing anyway. Mainly HermioneBlaise; side pairings of RonMillicent, DracoGinny and HarryKatie.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I've been in the fandom for well over a decade and one of my favorite AU scenarios is the Marriage Law. This is my subdued take, and I'm mostly writing this as writing practice. Any constructive criticism and general feedback welcome. Thanks to the best friend a girl could ask for, Keshia-515. She looked over this fic and gave me a lot of confidence.**

* * *

Hermione Granger did precisely three things right after the war ended, in no particular order: cry that it was all finally done and over with, hug her friends with a fierceness that said she would never let them go, and wonder if her parents would hate her when they found out what she did to protect them.

Ruminating about her life over piping hot tea in the newly renovated living room with Molly and Arthur at the Burrow was a hard habit to break. It kept her sane to socialize, to drink tea, and update her spiritual family about the simple things. Keeping her mind active was a chore she enjoyed maintaining, but it often brought her anxiety as well. Hermione's thoughts often raced, and staying near her friends was one way to keep her mind quiet.

Harry and Ron were the two friends everyone expected her to have, and she gladly accepted the box people kept her in, regarding her friendship with them. Ginny became an outstanding confidante, and Luna, whose unconventional ways became endearing over time instead of obnoxious as Hermione had feared, had stepped up as a friend as well. Luna and Hermione kept regular correspondence with each other and it was a welcome distraction.

She was staying at the Burrow for the time being. The Weasleys were accepting of her, as if she was their daughter; the immediate and warm acceptance made life easier to bear.

Her thoughts kept drifting back to her parents, and how their lives were without her. She briefly wondered if it was selfish to assume they were miserable without her, but it was also equally frightening to think about the prospects of their happiness without her. The Weasleys kindness was a genuine blessing. Seasons changed, and so did the people around her. No one had truly returned to normal. Everyone questioned what the new normal was now that everything was turned upside down.

It was February of 1999, and here there were no answers.

Hermione needed to create her own answers. It wasn't fair, sure, but ambition didn't know fairness. Or limits, for that matter.

She had two choices: go to Australia, and find her parents to face the consequences of her actions or live her life without that closure.

How much deliberation did she need to decide, anyway? It shouldn't be this hard to figure out how to settle on the decision of traveling to Australia! It was an enormous decision and Hermione went into causing their amnesia alone. Having taken the risk of the magnitude of her loneliness without her beloved parents haunted Hermione. Knowing the repercussions of having caused her parents amnesia. The plunge into uncertainty was a heavy burden to carry. The intensity of loneliness couldn't be properly explained to her chosen family. It was for the sake of her parents, sure, but it still made her heart ache; what if there were unforeseen consequences were more dire than she initially anticipated?

She wanted badly to stay at Hogwarts for as long as she could. Hogwarts was the only place Hermione had truly felt at home, and that feeling had never changed in seven years; she was a quiet child, and found it difficult to relate to other people her age, as her voracious desire for knowledge intimidated everyone. As a result, she had few friends, and even fewer ways to connect emotionally. Teachers were delighted at her maturity, but in reality they were delighted that she didn't cause trouble. Hogwarts taught her the power of connection, and the power of solidarity.

She gave that sense of familial dedication up to save the world that saved her. However, as an only child, she had a duty to rectify that issue of what she felt was essentially abandonment. Her two closest, Harry and Ron, didn't appear in her life soon enough; despite complaints when dealing with someone they've known for so many years, she loved these two goofy guys with as much heart as she could muster and it was her duty to keep them in the loop.

Hermione had to do what was right, and she had to do it as quickly as possible. Now...how was she to tell Harry and Ron?

Harry and Ron were in the living room at the Burrow, relaxing on the battered but comfortable sofa. Hermione didn't want to disturb their relaxation, but this was important to her. The sun shone through the windows, half-obscured by maroon and gold linen curtains, making the room feel more cozy. Although the burgundy shag rug sitting at the center had seen better days, it really brought the rustic warmth of the room together; there was even a coffee table atop the shag rug with some art books from wizard artists. Harry had introduced the concept of Muggle style decorating from thrift stores to the Weasleys, and they were thrilled. Hermione

"Harry, Ron...I have something important to tell you." The solemn look of utter serene calm on Hermione's face didn't seem to register for Harry and Ron. They seemed in fairly good spirits, jovial even. It was unnerving how well they were listening. Was this revelation something they could handle?

"On with it, Hermione. We don't have all day," said Harry.

"Spit it out," Ron exclaimed, further attempting to get Hermione to express herself.

"I'm going to Australia to give my parents back their memories. If all goes right, I'm going to have them go back to England with me so we can live together again as a family."

"Say no more, Hermione!" Ron said in a nonchalant tone, waving his hand dismissively. His quick response into positivity made Hermione's heart sing.

"We understand. And we want to come with you!" Harry said.

"Yeah, absolutely. Anything for our best friend," Ron added.

"Really? Would you do that?" Hermione couldn't hide her mixed emotions: ecstacy and confusion both evident in the way she carried herself.

"Of course. You were alone making the decision in the first place," Harry explained as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"You shouldn't have to be alone dealing with your family a second time. We're like family, after all," Ron said with a grin. She acquiesced a lot quicker than she expected to on the matter. Ron and Harry, in the strangest of ways, _were_ her brothers and she loved them as such; it was a comfort to know they cared about her this deeply. How could she argue? It was too good to pass up.

Besides, the Trio were a family. Leaving them behind would be a blasphemous act Hermione couldn't go through with and have a clear conscious.

* * *

"So how do Muggle airports work, anyway?" Ron asked, as they all came together at The Burrow to touch base with each other to cement their plans for picking up Hermione's parents. Both Hermione and Harry laughed to themselves at Ron's cluelessness, even if it made sense. Hermione was well versed in traveling, and had significantly more experience than Harry who had only been on an airplane less than a dozen times.

Both Hermione and Harry took turns explaining how it worked as they took public transport to the airport. It was Harry's idea to take public transport. His reasoning was sound, according to Hermione, and that was the ultimate compliment. They would have more time to discuss Hermione's plan to pick up her parents, and all three of them were able to spend more time together, jointly fascinated by the way the scenery of England passing them by as the bus took its time to drop them off.

All three of them were content to spend time together, and once their stop appeared, Hermione noticed something strange happening to her wand. She walked off the side of the sidewalk, away from nosy, interfering Muggles.

"Do you two feel your wands burning?" Hermione asked in an anxious whisper. The second she asked, Harry and Ron checked their pockets in unison.

"Yeah. It is burning…" Ron said. All three of them stopped dead in the middle of the busy street, confused with the recent happening. Although they looked strange as is, standing slack-jawed in the middle of the busy sidewalk was more strange; they sobered up long enough to move out of the way to pay attention to their burning wands.

"Wonder why," Harry mused. All three of them turned their backs to the crowds of people, and a familiar voice started speaking from their wands: Kingsley Shacklebolt, the first democratically elected Minister for Magic in the wizarding world. Seeing his face was a calm reminder that even in chaos, one could remain collected under pressure.

"To all wizardkind in England, I must inform you of an important issue. The population of wizards has diminished significantly after the War ended. It is a tragedy and mourning our fallen comrades is necessary in this unpredictable post-War era. However, with the death of so many people, we lose much of our lengthy history, our time-honored traditions, our ability to explore a future to keep us afloat. Although we have historians furtively and intensely keeping our livelihood written down, it takes more than a handful of historians to remember our history. It is up to you all, all of wizardkind, to repopulate to keep future generations. I will send out a letter by owl with further information; expect this letter to appear in twenty-four to forty-eight hours."

His somber voice sounded as if he was sarcastically reading the announcement. It was a strange situation to hear about over a voice message, and Hermione wished she could've heard this in person. Maybe it would've been less shocking.

"Is this real?" Ron asked, too incredulous to realize he was in public.

"It has to be. I can't imagine getting an official notification from Kingsley Shacklebolt of all people and having it be fake," Harry reasoned, but he didn't seem too convinced himself.

Hermione balled her fists so intensely, her knuckles turned white. That was enough of a response that Ron and Harry realized logic and reason wouldn't be useful when talking to her right now: she, like Ron and Harry, were too emotional to truly talk about this in a useful way.

"Let's get to the airport. Wouldn't want to miss our flight," Harry said in an attempt to lighten the mood. They all moved with the fluidity of people who hadn't just had a bombshell dropped upon their shoulders.


	2. Chapter 2

The twenty and a half hour plane ride to Australia was hell; the airplane was cramped, full of smelly, fidgety, and noisy passengers who lashed out at the mere thought of being held accountable for being obnoxious or loud. Ron, being the tallest and the gangliest of the trio, took up the most space and as such, claimed the aisle seat, while Harry claimed the window seat because he liked the scenery and Hermione didn't mind sitting in the middle as long as it meant she could read her books without being interrupted.

At this rate, knowing the information they did about this marriage law, it would be anxiety provoking trying to wait until getting back to England after finding out more information.

Hermione, Ron, and Harry sat in solemn silence for long stretches of time during the flight to ruminate on what had happened. There would be a lot to react to, and that was an understatement. Without much information to work off of, it was only natural for them to ask questions and make uneducated guesses about it all. What else were they supposed to do, anyway? Waiting in anxious silence was a terrible idea, unsuited to the hot-headed and highly emotional Trio.

"Who do you think you're going to have to marry?" Ron asked to no one in particular. His question lingered in the air, the silence not broken yet with reactions.

"Someone I get along with, who wants a big family," Harry explained wistfully, taking his time to enunciate his words. Ron nodded in agreement.

"What about you, Hermione?" Harry asked. It was a simple question but Hermione had the epiphany that she hadn't really thought too hard about marriage. She thought of having a career, a truly meaningful one at that, of making herself useful and happy, of creating a world where her purpose was to help.

"Honestly as long as we're compatible and doesn't get in my way, I think we'll get along," Hermione said, and it came off colder than she intended.

"That's a little harsh, isn't it?" Harry asked. Hermione supposed it was but she didn't particularly want to admit as such.

"I would certainly hope not. I want my future husband to respect that I have ambitions and my ambitions don't always circle around him," Hermione explained with more warmth in her voice.

"Well...at least that makes sense!" Harry chirped.

"I wonder how long it's going to take to get the letters," Ron said, clumsily changing the subject. Somehow, beyond comprehension, it worked.

"Most importantly...would there would be enough legal jargon to make our heads explode?" Harry asked. It was a silly way to pose the question, but it held value nonetheless. No one in the trio had legal expertise, and it seemed like no one in their immediate circle would understand either. Seemed unethical. That's how it convinced people to be mindlessly obedient, they all supposed.

"I predict it would be difficult to parse on our own. Do wizards even _have_ lawyers?" Hermione asked. Even if they were in over their heads, they figured with enough determination and curiosity, they would make it through. Or, at the very least, make sense of this newly enacted law.

Until then, the main goal was to get to Australia and find Hermione's parents.

* * *

"I had sent them to this address," Hermione said with shaken confidence. Harry took out a pocket map to orient everyone, and they marched forward. Their silence was not awkward: in fact, it marked their solemn determination to find the Grangers.

After a half an hour of speed walking, the once clear blue sky became dark with clouds. Except…there weren't any clouds.

Ron was the first to look up.

"Are those..._owls_?" His question was summarily answered when a rain of letters drowned Hermione, Ron, and Harry. Each letter had their names written on, and weighed the same amount, no doubt because it contained the same message.

_To the wizard or witch reading this letter, _

_You are receiving this letter because you are a wizard or witch between eighteen and forty-five. Our population has dwindled significantly, and as wizardkind mourns the loss of many lives, so we must remember to gallantly move forward. In order to preserve our history, we must repopulate via matching-_

Hermione crumpled up her version of the letter and threw it in the nearest trash can.

"Damn, what did your letter _do _to you?" Ron asked, incredulous. Her response was over the top, a little too angry for what the boys usually expected of her.

"I'm not going to subject myself to forceful copulation." Harry and Ron, the children they were at heart, laughed at Hermione's user of the word copulation. Typical of her to use big words when smaller ones could've done the trick.

"I'm serious!" Hermione added. "Don't _you _think it's too oppressive to think of history as simply more bodies?" Harry and Ron looked at each other meaningfully. Hermione sighed.

"How else would we preserve this kind of history?" Ron provided, his voice weak. Harry nodded vigorously.

"Books! Language, traditions, education. I mean, look who you're talking to." They laughed for a moment, their joy a brief respite to the serious tone of the conversation.

"Plus it sounds like eugenics. Why do we have to breed for specific traits? It's creepy." Harry and Ron, clutching their letters, fell silent to Hermione's rant, enraptured by her points. They had nothing to say because her points were valid and made sense, despite being born of what was essentially a rant.

"Hermione, I agree, and your points make sense. But...there's no breeding for specific traits? Nothing in the letter made reference to that, beyond having kids to repopulate," Harry explained in an attempt to calm down a seething Hermione.

"You're right. But my point still stands: being forced to marry is _weird._ Most importantly, what about my physical health during childbirth? You should care, Ron, you have a little sister."

Before she let Ron answer with the indignance of being put on the spot, Hermione uncrumpled her letter, straightened out the page in the best way she could to make sure it was legible and kept reading. It was pretty typical stuff, a law she expected to have come to fruition after what she had read prior to the angry outburst.

Upon further reading, Hermione noticed some fine print: requesting a spouse. How it became a part of the fine print in the law, Hermione would never know nor understand. Few people knew about it, because of the Ministry's fear of it being abused. A person was able to write a written request if someone found an age-appropriate mate; after sending in that written request, you'd have to fill out an in-depth questionnaire to determine compatibility.

However, the seemingly endless paperwork was hellacious and thorough enough to make even the most studious, meticulously law-abiding citizen cringe. There was a twelve-page essay portion explaining one's history with the requested spouse. Other parts of the essay included in-depth explanation of compatibility, many compelling reasons why the Ministry shouldn't set you up with someone of their choosing, and at least two recommendations explaining why this was a good decision.

The Ministry approved less than three percent of the applications that were submitted, and that alone deterred people.

Hermione, ever the academic, wanted to defy all odds in the best way she knew how: writing. A new task arose. Hermione wanted to be part of the small percentage of people who succeeded.

A new fork in the road popped up without her truly comprehending it's numerous, long-lasting consequences. Although the law put Hermione's sense of autonomy in question, her parents were still out here in sunny desert of Australia, blissfully unaware of her existence. It was her own fault, and even though she had this epiphany many times prior, that profound loss still struck a chord. Hermione couldn't decide she would not live in a world that demanded marriage on a timeline she could not control.

Hermione flipped a coin: heads meant she chose her parents, and tails meant she would start writing a letter to Kingsley Shacklebolt about the marriage law she was forced to abide by. A fiery fury that couldn't be extinguished started burning within. She was not about to marry the man chosen for her, but she would not let her parents down.

Heads.

"Come on you two, let's get out of the middle of the sidewalk. We've got parents to save," Hermione exclaimed, a sudden steeliness in her voice appearing. Harry felt his stomach tie into knots. Her newfound commanding presence startled Harry, because this decision felt out of character even though it made sense. Ron followed without question, his devotion to being useful unparalleled, matched only by Harry's equal amounts of devotion.

* * *

Hermione stood on her parents' porch, painted a sunshine yellow and peeling from the eternally beating sun. The cobblestone pathway to the porch added a quaint charm. The meticulous lawn, and precise placement of color-coded flowers in alphabetical order from acacia to zinnia ensured that the people who lived here were truly Hermione's parents.

She took another step and knocked twice. The door opened to reveal a woman wearing a tank top, cargo pants, and hiking boots, whose honey brown hair was put in a girlish ponytail. Her wire-frame glasses sat on her pointed nose. Something like recognition and warmth flickered across her face. The emotions didn't last long, though.

"Hello there, miss. Are you lost?" She had asked, her tone curt yet curious.

"Not particularly. Are you Eve Clark? Is your husband Declan?" She asked, and Harry flinched at her unwavering bluntness. The woman, who Harry guessed was Eve, looked taken aback.

"I'm Hermione Granger and I have something incredibly important to tell you. May I come in?" Eve let her in. Harry and Ron were left to idle around their yard. Not wanting to be taken for trespassers, the boys took a walk around the block to sight-see.

"What do you think Hermione's saying to her parents right now?" Harry wondered aloud. Ron shrugged.

"I can't imagine it's all that fun," Ron said.

"Well, duh, it's hard. You can't deny that. It's probably boring stuff. 'I'm your daughter, and you got amnesia', or something," Harry predicted. The third time around the block blurred into a few dozen. Every ten minutes for the past forty minutes, Harry made sure to check on the yard to see if Hermione returned.

"But how is she going to explain the amnesia? It's not like there's a justifiable medical reason for this to happen," Ron said, after double-checking Hermione hadn't returned from her confrontation.

"Maybe she said they went into witness protection from a burglary?" Harry said.

"Too far-fetched. But it might work if Hermione plays her cards right," Ron responded. They had veered off course of walking around the block to include more blocks around this house, but made sure to stay relatively close in case something happened.

When Ron and Harry returned to the Clark house, Hermione sat on the porch. Her head was slumped into her hands.

"Let's go, Hermione," Harry said, and Ron gave his hand so he could lead her away.

"Is it okay that I don't really want to talk about how the confrontation went right now?" Hermione asked through sniffles. She was about to cry, and any prodding would bring on the waterworks.

"Of course," Harry said, keeping his voice soft.

"Now we have another two days until we get back to England. What should we do while we're here?" Ron asked, his itch for adventure awoken.

There was more to do in Australia than remember the wedge in Hermione's relationships with her parents.


	3. Chapter 3

The plane ride home was mostly spent reading through an endless amount of jargon filled pages. Words began to blur together, and soon enough, their heads began to spin.

"How are we supposed to decipher this on our own?" Harry exclaimed.

"Even I can't decipher it…" When even Hermione admitted defeat, something was wrong.

"Who can we talk to about understanding this?" Ron asked. He was determined to find fairness in the midst of this confusion.

"Wait you two," Harry said, "look at this!" He had pointed to the very bottom of the letter.

Requesting a spouse was part of the fine print in the law. Few people knew about it, Harry deduced, because of the Ministry's fear of it being abused. A person was able to write a written request if someone found an age-appropriate mate; after sending in that written request, you'd have to fill out an in-depth questionnaire to determine compatibility.

However, the seemingly endless paperwork was hellacious and thorough enough to make even the most studious, meticulously law-abiding citizen cringe. There was a twelve-page essay portion explaining one's history with the requested spouse. Other parts of the essay included in-depth explanation of compatibility, many compelling reasons why the Ministry shouldn't set you up with someone of their choosing, and at least two recommendations explaining why this was a good decision.

The Ministry approved less than three percent of the applications that were submitted, and that alone deterred people.

Hermione wanted to defy all odds. In that moment, she started writing with a fiery fury that couldn't be extinguished. She was not about to marry the man chosen for her. Hermione's sense of autonomy was in question, and it struck a chord; Harry and Ron felt some of that, too, she could tell.. She would not live in a world that demanded marriage on a timeline she could not control.

While Harry and Ron seemed to be resigned to their fates (the paperwork alone daunted them, and even though they missed the idea of romantic freedom, it was an adventurous risk they were willing to take), Hermione wrote until her hand cramped.

The twelve page essay portion was done in about four hours, and a revelation struck her. Who would she ask for a recommendation? She could ask Luna, but Hermione was on a timeline and Luna had instead focused on exploration of the world via extensive travel. And there was no one else she could truly trust anyone else on a deep enough level that she could ask for a recommendation. But that begged the question: was it worth it for Hermione to question this? This was essentially a government-mandated arranged marriage, and it seemed like a primitive solution to a conundrum that didn't need this level of governmental interference; it seemed illogical to assume that the most relevant answer to this question was acting on hysteria.

If Hermione was in charge, things would be significantly difficult. She'd funnel money into education so wizarding history could be preserved for further. A knowledgeable population was an influential population.

Plus, there was the question of why there wasn't better medical care. One hospital for a whole population of all wizardkind in the entire United Kingdom? How unrealistic. Her peers came out of the war traumatized, anxious, and depressed yet there wasn't any support for them. The lack of emotional support was, truthfully, monstrous.

What was a girl to do except lay back and accept her fate? Apparently fighting would be a waste of energy; since she felt trapped, she might as well enjoy the ride.

* * *

A few days after landing in England and getting settled, Hermione, Ron and Harry felt the true weight of anxiety and stress of the match fall on their shoulders. They were all to be matched, coincidentally, within fifteen minutes of each other on the same day: Hermione at 10 am, Ron at 10:15, and Harry at 10:30. Although the matching process would take longer than fifteen minutes, people were sent in at staggered times so as to not overwhelm the system or the people enacting the system.

The trio stood at the base of the Ministry of Magic, an imposing marble building that stood inhumanely tall and whose weather-worn pillars were wider than most wizards. Ivy clung to the pillars, green and blooming in vivid color that Hermione found strangely comforting.

"Before we go to your matching," Harry started, both Ron and Harry sporting the same solemn looks on their faces, "Ron and I have something to say." Hermione tilted her head. She hadn't really seen them like this in a while, solemn and genuinely remorseful about something she couldn't place.

"We want to clear the air with an apology." Ron's pleading face seemed sincere, even if it felt like overkill. It added a sincerity Hermione didn't expect.

"We're sorry for the way we talked to you when we first heard about the marriage law," Harry said, and Hermione understood. Harry kept going to say, "We were too shocked to realize our words had actions."

"To be clear, we value your opinions." Ron said, "and we want to prove we'll do better by you."

"You know, by improving our behavior and such," Harry added.

"Thanks, you two. I appreciate it-" Before Hermione could finish, she hugged the boys. With Harry and Ron on her side, she could do anything.

* * *

"So," Hermione said with pursed lips and gritted teeth, "it comes to this. I have to be matched." She was standing in the lobby of the large and illustrious Ministry of Magic, her arms crossed in defiance and her grounded stance. She was proud of not budging.

Kingsley Shacklebolt, head of the Marriage Committee in light of the new law passing, was the man in charge of matching two people into couples. Unlike Hermione, who was proud of her defiance, remained unfazed about her. Her actions, that of petulant defiance, were expected but not encouraged. Much like a child throwing a tantrum, the best way to acknowledge people lashing out due to pressure and stress was to remain calm.

"Yes, ma'am. You are going to be matched with your future spouse in the very next room you walk in to." Kingsley kept his voice an even, unthreatening monotone. Hermione narrowed her eyes, disbelief coloring her face like a face full of makeup.

"This is how my independence ends: inside a government building," Hermione scoffed. She wrung her hands with enough intensity to make her knuckles white. The corridor in which they stood had marble floors, utilitarian brick and steel walls painted an inviting shade of robin's egg blue, and it didn't feel like a government building. She could've been fooled if it wasn't for the looming, decorative pillars and high, opaque stained glass ceilings.

"Are you okay to move forward, Miss Granger?" Kingsley asked, and for a brief moment he sounded like a concerned father. Hermione couldn't let her guard down for even a second.

"As okay as I'll ever be. Let's go before I try to run in the opposite direction and become some sort of wanted criminal or worse-on the billboard over there as a reminder of my delinquency." Kingsley nodded in acceptance of her answer, even if it was still petulant in nature and genuinely unhelpful. He led her down identical corridors, walking at a brisk pace over drab gray carpets and passing by undecorated (therefore forgettable) beige walls.

Kingsley stopped walking after nearly twenty minutes. A magnificent, enormous double door appeared in front of Hermione. It loomed with imposing grace, a shade of cobalt blue so vivid Hermione's eyes burned. Gold, silver, and bronze stars were painted onto it, and the stars painted on the door reflected the night sky as it existed outside. With closer study, stars moved and glittered.

The actual room wasn't as ornate as the double doors, but it sufficed as a work room where official business happened. Mahogany colored chairs and beige tables lined the edges of the room, and there was litter to show someone had been here recently In fact, aside from the pastel blue of the walls, and the attempt at welcoming decoration on the walls of generic motivational posters, the room wasn't much to look at.

Hermione couldn't have wanted this to end any faster than she already did. Kingsley ushered her to take a seat in one of the provided chairs at the edge of the room. Before she could even get comfortable, she was slammed with paperwork.

"First, in order to determine who you are to marry, you will have to finish this. It will help sharpen our algorithm," Kingsley explained. Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"What's the point? Shouldn't you have this all figured out already?" Hermione knew this made her sound bratty but she was losing patience. Bureaucracy added a layer of unnecessary complication, and it weighed on her at this very moment.

"The point is that there are human refinements we need to confirm our decision so we do not pair you with a kneazle or a dead person" Kingsley explained, and his attempt at joking was actually strangely funny. Hermione sighed, and took a deep breath to calm herself.

"Look Hermione, I'll be candid with you. I know this is difficult and not...the most wonderful solution. But it's the only workable solution we've got now that isn't a drastic governmental re-haul. Please just handle this as best as you can, okay?" Kingsley said, softening considerably. Hermione felt better.

"Thanks for that explanation. I'll do my best to get this done."

The diligent perfectionist within her kicked up and motivated her to work towards finishing the mountain of paperwork ahead. Her main goal was efficiency, but speed was a factor Hermione considered equally as important; she wanted to finish but she wanted it to be finished well. She wanted to finish so she never had to deal with this ever again for as long as she lived. If she was to get married at nineteen, she might as well do it correctly the first time around.

Thirty-five minutes and many failed attempts at small talk later, Hermione handed Kingsley her papers. He disappeared without so much as a joke to diffuse the tension. She kept her seat warm and twiddled her thumbs, as there wasn't so much as a book to keep her mind focused on something less stressful than her entire future.


	4. Chapter 4

With a quick burst of yellow light, a man appeared from behind a velvet curtain. It was a young man Hermione instantly recognized as Blaise Zabini. She hadn't noticed him during their years at Hogwarts, because she was too busy saving the world with Harry and Ron. What she did remember was his close connection with Draco and his ilk. He was outgoing during his Hogwarts years, bursting with a childish need to prove himself. Despite being an extrovert, Blaise often kept to himself, even then.

Now, something about him seemed different. He was more solemn, more contained, more resigned to a fate of a quiet, average life in a world that crumpled from inside out.

His height of five feet and ten inches made him six inches taller than Hermione. He grew into his lanky limbs. Blaise had a head of perfectly maintained coily black hair. Blaise wore a button down white and black pinstripe shirt, black slacks, and black loafers. He dressed to impress, and boy was Hermione impressed.

Despite being impressed, Hermione felt underdressed. She walked into this thinking a comfortable but worn blue cardigan and a knee-length pleated black skirt was appropriate. Her black stockings had some holes to show they were worn, and the brown loafers she wore were hand-me-downs from Molly.

They stared at each other for a long time, eyes locking in an intense staring contest.

"I suppose we're husband and wife now," Blaise said, as if this nonchalant statement of fact changed anything.

"Almost. I have a quick statement to make your ceremony official," Kingsley interrupted.

"Oh, what now!" Hermione and Blaise exclaimed in unison. They cast a knowing look at each other. Maybe this synchronicity was a good sign.

"We are here today because of a legally binding government proclamation. Blaise and Hermione, you are here today to become husband and wife. Through this ceremony you will be bound together, through sickness and in health, through good times and difficult times, through a tornado of make a long story short….Blaise, do you take Hermione to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

Blaise stepped closer to Hermione, grabbed both of her hands, and looked her straight in the eyes.

"I do," Blaise said, his husky and low. Hermione's heart skipped a beat.

"Hermione, do you take Blaise as your lawfully wedded husband?"

"I do," Hermione said, her voice a mere whisper.

"By the power vested in me, through the wizarding community of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, I pronounce you husband and wife. However you wish to react is up to you." In a moment of emotion, Hermione stood on her tiptoes and kissed Blaise. It was a small peck, and the idea of more obvious signs of affection like that made Hermione feel queasy but it was an action that made sense. While this happened, Kingsley disappeared from sight, no doubt to work with other couples who were no doubt supposed to be married about now.

"I know it wasn't a particularly romantic ceremony," Blaise said, "but we somehow we made due."

"...What now?" A silence.

"We can leave the Ministry, first of all," Hermione suggested.

"That's a start. We can get to know each other as we try to make sense of this marriage law," Blaise said. They walked next to each other as if they had just met for the first time. A part of Hermione knew she'd have to get used to this, but she wasn't sure if she was capable of such a feat. At least she knew enough of Blaise to know he wasn't a random stranger.

"So...how have you been?" Hermione asked, breaking the ice. Blaise kept his hands at an awkward angle, unsure what to do with these limbs but to keep them limp at his sides. He was just as unsure as she was, and in a strange way, that was assuring.

"Okay, I suppose. I had to lay low because of the war, and it's disorienting choosing to isolate yourself. My family got too...invested in the dark side," Blaise explained as they exited the Ministry building.

There were too many words left unsaid. Hermione wanted to let sleeping dogs lie, but curiosity got the best of her.

"There's a lot to unpack there," Hermione stated, keeping herself neutral until Blaise opened up to let her scoop more information from his brain.

"I suppose, but it's to be expected. I'm a strange creature, full of many delights," Blaise said, a cat-like grin spreading across his face. He had dimples and angular features and Hermione could even call him attractive.

"Before we continue this conversation, I vote that we go to the nearest park and marvel at the man-made construction of nature," Hermione said.

"That sounds wonderful," Blaise responded. Hermione reached for Blaise's hand in an attempt at romance. Blaise held her hand with an unexpected tenderness.

"What's your family like, Hermione?"

"I'm an only child. Both my parents are dentists." She wasn't sure she was ready to mention the forced amnesia part yet. Not to mention their horror when they reacted as they did. One day, in the future, she would. Until then, she can pretend they are dentists who love her, who know her.

"They work a lot but we get along well. My mother has an older brother in Essex. My uncle Noah, he's a real sweetheart but a bit of a pushover. We see him many times a year because he's social and invites us to all of these parties. My dad has a younger sister, my auntie Delilah. She's an artist and flits around a lot so we don't keep in contact. My life is fairly quiet." Hermione explained, and a part of her felt insecure for not having anything more interesting to offer. "What about yours?"

Blaise's face contorted strangely, and Hermione's simple question opened up a landmine of uncertainty.

"My mother remarried six times, and I'm the middle son from her seventh husband. I have five siblings," Blaise started. It was a statement of fact for him, but Hermione balked nonetheless at how comfortable he was with this sprawling family tree.

"Really? Only five?" Hermione quipped, hastily saving face; she didn't want to seem rude for let out a small chuckle. Crisis averted.

"It's not like it's a secret or anything," Blaise said, "although I'm sure I could figure out the skeletons in my parents' closets." Blaise let out a laugh that sounded more villainous than light. It was unnerving.

"Are there any family secrets about you I should worry about?" Blaise asked, and Hermione balked.

"I do," Hermione said after too many moments of silence, "but I have to tell you later. I don't know how to word it now."

"I understand. Life's complicated enough as is," Blaise said.

"No need to make it more complicated, then," Hermione replied.

"I can make this conversation lighter by talking about my siblings," Blaise replied, an abrupt change that Hermione was grateful about.

"Let's start down the list from oldest to youngest. My oldest sister's called Abigail. She's twelve years older than me and she had her thirty-first birthday back in December. I don't know her all that well. She's from Mother's first marriage, and I have an inkling that Mother liked Abigail the best since Abigail's father was Mother's favorite husband." Blaise's indifference hit Hermione like a ton of bricks.

"How can you be so unaffected by such blatant favoritism?" Hermione gasped. Blaise shrugged.

"I spent my entire childhood being punished by the shadow of a girl who shared some blood with me. Mother loved me, sure, but something was missing from her love for me. I think she much preferred the idea of me rather than who I actually was." Expectations were difficult to deal with, without being in the shadow of someone else, was already fairly difficult. But he sounded monotonous, as if he's said all of this before.

"I don't think it'd be fair to keep punishing myself for something out of my control. What can you do except move on," Blaise explained. His answer sounded rehearsed, and that broke Hermione's heart.

"Then there's my two brothers. There's Jericho, five years older than me. He's twenty-four now. He's from husband… I think it's three? Yeah it's three. Jericho is cool, I suppose. Fairly adventurous and a big hiker. We bonded because we both like hiking." Blaise almost seemed fond. The change in his mood in a matter of seconds gave Hermione whiplash.

"Where is Jericho now?" Hermione asked. She wanted to keep the mood light.

"I think he's on the coast of France. He's taken up some strange hobby that he's too excited to talk to me about coherently." Blaise was amused. Hermione was, too. There's something refreshing about learning about someone for the first time. She didn't have a lot of friends, so this was a brand new experience for her. As an only child in a relatively small family, she had little practical experience with siblings. The Weasleys were her family, sure (and she loved them dearly, more than words can explain), but their love would be different if she was a blood Weasley.

Blaise knew his place in the world, Hermione came to realize, because of family. She knew herself, and she knew what she wanted but she didn't know how to connect all of the dots.

"Then there's River. He's twenty-two and from husband four. The true definition of introversion. Once, he spent eighteen and a half hours straight cooped up in his room to finish a book he was reading. Good heart, but not too keen on socializing and it's hard for me to connect with him." Hermione understood River on a deeply emotional level. She hoped to meet him one day to converse about books.

"I have two sisters and I share a father with both of them. There's Constance, who's seventeen and a real firecracker. I have to reign her in a lot because she forgets that actions have consequences." Hermione laughed here, a true belly laugh. Constance reminded Hermione of Ginny in some ways: a little reckless, a lot energetic.

"Finally, and I'm saving the best for last, my fifteen year old sister Fern. She knows she's the youngest and manipulates people to do what she wants. As a former Slytherin, I want to make sure she's being cunning instead of cruel. It's a lifelong process. I hope to be a good influence." He squeezed Hermione's hand here, asking for reassurance. She squeezed back.

They stood in the park in comfortable silence, letting the breeze blow through the trees without making more noise to disturb the peace of nature.

"Thank you for sharing so much about yourself," Hermione said, after a long but comfortable silence.

"It was a pleasure to share it," Blaise responded. Without warning, he placed a soft kiss to her cheek. It lingered for long enough that Hermione turned beet red. Her whole body tingled, and for a moment, she forgot herself: she faced him, stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the lips. Blaise's brown skin turned a delightful shade of red.

"I'm sorry for being so bold," Hermione whispered, wringing her hands. Blaise seemed so collected, and Hermione was baffled.

"Don't worry about it. We're married, so we should get used to displays of affection," Blaise said matter of factly and Hermione couldn't deny it. Blaise wrapped an arm around her waist and brought her close to him, and their bodies were enmeshed in a comfortable position.

"That reminds me! Do you have any friends who got married today?" Hermione asked. In the past few hours, she had gotten used to Blaise's calming presence. Something about being a contradiction-aloof but open, guarded but vulnerable-reminded Hermione that her new husband was a dynamic human being. Husband a weird designation for this man, but a word she'd have to get used to using. The weight of the word would lightene eventually. Until then, she'd have to be respectful, because he deserved that.

She was sure Blaise had still kept in touch with his Slytherin circle. Friendship in that house seemed to run deep, and there was a large circle of people everyone no doubt knew; everyone was inexorably connected by pure blood and Death Eater connections, no matter how distant. Loyalty ran deep in one's house, and something about Slytherin narrow but intense scope of fealty kept everyone closer.

"Oh sure, I could check on them. I have some people in mind."

"Our next adventure awaits!" Hermione chirped.


	5. Chapter 5

"Who should I connect with first?" Blaised wondered aloud.

"That depends. Who were your closest friends?" Hermione's question sent Blaise into a state of thought so deep, she thought he'd never come out of it.

"Millicent Bulstrode and Draco Malfoy," Blaise stated; without any fanfare, he started concocting a plan, and jumped to click his feet.

"Blaise, what in the hell are you doing?" Hermione asked, a little worried once she noticed Blaise speed-walking toward the busy parts of the city.

"I'm going to find a payphone and get in contact with them the Muggle way!" His earnest exclamation threw Hermione off guard. Pureblood wizards have surely changed in the short time. Maybe this was a good sign.

"I'm more surprised they have landlines to call," Hermione said. It was, after all, 1999. Anything could happen.

"Landlines are a wonderful invention. I can't believe we didn't catch up to this brilliant technology sooner." Hermione chuckled and followed behind. It only took three minutes to arrive at the nearest payphone, where Blaise fished for coins.

"Muggle currency? I'm proud of you for learning it and using it with such aplomb," Hermione quipped, only half-sarcastic. Blaise beamed, basking in her attention; she remained rapt as he pulled out the right amount of change to call his friends.

"Who are you going to call first?" Hermione asked to break the ice. It came from a place of genuine curiosity. Hermione dimly wondered how drastically they changed. Many Slytherins fought in the War, even if their approach was different; there must've been a lot of prejudice to overcome and baggage to cope with, something that couldn't be easy to deal with alone.

"I"m going to call Draco. The dumbass fell off the face of the earth without telling me. I'm not sure what happened to the bloke, really. I hope he's okay," Blaise was babbling at this point but Hermione found it endearing in the way he talked with such great enthusiasm. He had exact change in his wallet. Dialing the number took a few seconds. Blaise must've called Draco a lot in the past.

"Draco? My man! It's been too long. How are you? I'm calling about your match-" Blaise's unmitigated enthusiasm dropped as he was no doubt being interrupted by Draco talking.

"...Married to Ginny Weasley?" Blaise's confusion made no sense. Ginny was a wonderful young woman. What could be wrong with her?

...Oh, right. It was Draco Malfoy. Some old habits die hard, Hermione supposed. There was a lifetime to unlearn this. Draco would have to learn: knowing Ginny, she wouldn't handle that kind of stubbornness and would promptly teach him otherwise. Then again, Ginny was known to be fairly stubborn, so Hermione also supposed they were about equals when it came to that.

"I'm married to Hermione Granger, and she's pretty great." Blaise seemed unironically proud and Hermione beamed.

"Do you need Hermione and me to visit? We can talk to you and Ginny separately to see how to make this work. I'm not gonna let you sift through paperwork because you're throwing a tantrum. Give me your address and we'll be there in a few." Blaise turned to Hermione, a jerky pivot that startled her from her reverie.

"Where are we going?" Hermione asked even though she knew the answer. Time to calm Draco from a tantrum.

"Draco's manor. It's a quick bus ride away from here," Blaise explained, fully confident. Hermione grinned; she found his enthusiasm charming, his child-like enthusiasm so infectious that she couldn't help feel hyped.

"I'm sure Draco would throw a fit about how much you've embraced Muggle culture," Hermione said. As petty as it sounded, she was delighted to know something brought Draco's arrogance down a peg.

"He has, actually. Ever since I left the Wizarding world to lay low after the War, I stayed in Muggle London," Blaise said, and Hermione's interest piqued. She wasn't sure how to ask without being invasive, so she'd keep this in the backburner.

"I hope you feel comfortable telling me more about how your life so drastically changed. It's really fascinating to me that so much can happen in a year," Hermione said.

"I'll tell you when the time comes. I will say, though, it's been a pleasant change." His sounded content now, but Hermione noted the fluctuation of emotions was like riding a roller-coaster, and being sent on a wild ride of unpredictable behavior was something Hermione wasn't sure she would be able to handle. She'd note that for later and learn to cope along the way.

Blaise continued with, "Since I didn't have a lot of connection to anyone really in wizardkind, except for Fern, and Constance, it was surprisingly easy to change. With most of my former Slytherin friends out of the picture, I had a lot of free time on my hands."

"I hope to meet Fern and Constance," Hermione offered; she knew it was a meek attempt to connect, but there was something mysterious and strangely unknowable about Blaise. The cut connection to Slytherin made a grudge-holding Hermione strangely vindicated, but there was a story behind

His behavior, a little erratic and a lot intense, was something that Hermione couldn't particularly pin down. Maybe it's because she had only truly come to know him for a few hours, or maybe because she could work on her social skills. Either way, Blaise's energy levels were confusing in a fascinating way.

"You will in due time. Until then, we're off to meet Draco. Millicent is with him, so it's like killing two birds with one stone," Blaise said.

"I wonder what they're up to, in a morbid way," Hermione mused aloud.

"Are you willing to come with me?" Blaise asked.

"Sure," Hermione replied, albeit with enough hesitance that Blaise looked concerned.

"You aren't obligated," he added. There was something endearing about the hastiness. Otherwise, she wouldn't have bothered.

"I don't mind," Hermione said with more energy, "I wouldn't know what to do with my time, anyway. I'm feeling particularly spontaneous at the moment."

"Let's get going. Draco is a stickler for punctuality," Blaise said, and they were off to meet him. They were using public tran

"I see Malfoy hasn't changed much," Hermione joked as they walked toward the bus stop.

Blaise laughed. "I suppose not." Silence fell between them, but neither of them seemed to mind.

"It's strange, isn't it, how so much can change yet so much stays the same?" Hermione mused. She didn't expect an answer.

"People are fickle and our environment reflects that. It makes sense if you try to stop looking for rules," Blaise explained as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"I suppose," Hermione replied. She wanted to say more, to continue this conversation. But she was, for the first time in Merlin knows when, speechless. However, the bus arrived as the schedule announced.I t seemed like a rare thing for buses to be punctual. Both of them stepped on, paying the fare in silence. The silence felt awkward but there was going to be a lot of awkward silence. That was the price of the Marriage Law, Hermione realized. It wasn't particularly romantic or emotionally organic about being paired because of a law, but Hermione had to cope.

"I could've run away, you know," Hermione blurted, and the words tumbled out of her mouth a little too easily. Blaise raised an eyebrow.

"From what? Or...who?" Blaise asked.

"The government," Hermione responded, and Blaise abruptly stared at Hermione, fear and confusion coloring his face.

"You have some explaining to do, Hermione," Blaise said, deadly serious and solemn enough to make Hermione burst into laughter.

"Merlin's beard, not like that!" Hermione laughed at the shock on Blaise's face, and he lightened up too as a result of her laughter. "You see, I was initially against the Marriage Law."

"As was a lot of people," Blaise said, "it was controversial for being oppressive and regressive."

"I couldn't bear to have my autonomy taken away from me, and I thought about fleeing." Hermione felt illogical for opening up, especially on a Muggle bus. However, they had the sense to keep their voices down and sit in the back row where people would be less likely to pay attention.

"Why didn't you?" Blaise asked, and Hermione was simultaneously anxious and relieved at his question.

"Because I ran to find a solution twice before. Once with Harry and Ron to defeat Voldemort," Blaise instinctively flinched at the Dark Lord's name, but she continued, "and once I Oblivated my parents and sent them to Australia. I did this to go on the trip so I could go help Harry and Ron without worrying about them." Silence befell them and Hermione's anxiety was palpable. She wondered

"Thanks for sharing this," Blaise said, and he took his time to say this because he seemed to struggle to find the right words. He continued with, "What you did was very brave. Extreme, and reckless, and probably a decision I can't even fathom, but it was brave."

"Thank you," Hermione squeezed Blaise's hand as the bus screeched to a halt.

When the bus stopped, Blaise jumped up from his seat.

"We're here! It's our stop," Blaise chirped. Hermione came to the realization, as they exited the bus, that she had no idea where she was, nor where Malfoy Manor was located.

"Do you know where you're going, Blaise?" Hermione asked, her attempt at keeping her composure pretty flimsy. Blaise seemed too calm to be leading the way, his jaunty steps a little too relaxed to be reconnecting with estranged friends.

"I know what I'm doing. Trust me," was all that came out of Blaise's mouth, and Hermione's heart raced. Walking for half a mile and fifteen minutes later, the surrounding foliage became thicker, more lush with green leaves. As the busy city streets of London transformed into the rolling hills of hidden forests of a city Hermione wasn't familiar with, what must have been Malfoy Manor came into view.

Approaching Malfoy Manor as an outsider felt like entering an alternate universe where stark, gilded minimalism reigned supreme. It was a sprawling estate, and Hermione wouldn't be surprised if the house sat on more than three acres of meticulously tended lawn. How a small family such as the Malfoys chose such a huge estate to maintain with such precision astounded Hermione to speechlessness. The Victorian architecture of this manor was austere in its looming height, looking down at Hermione with many stained-glass windows. These windows were the only splash of color in an otherwise , creating a delightful contradiction. The manor stood proud and elegant and slightly strange in its design; this piqued Hermione's interest. Architecture and its history fascinated her. One day, she would study it in depth.

For now, she would marvel that this manor was a gorgeous, somewhat frightening sight to behold.

"I can't believe this is Malfoy Manor!" Hermione exclaimed as she walked alongside Blaise to the winding road from the gated entrance to the front door. There were short, floating stairs leading up to the entrance of the manor, and Hermione nearly tripped over them. Luckily, Blaise caught her in time so she didn't tumble into the dirt at the bottom of the entrance.

"Isn't it an architectural delight?" Blaise cooed, vibrating in child-like excitement at seeing his friends. He pushed the button to ring the doorbell. Instead of a typical bell sound, like Hermione expected, the doorbell's ring was a simplified flute cover of Fur Elise.

Hermione felt a spike of adrenaline rush through her, and she couldn't explain her newfound fascination with Malfoy and his manor. No doubt it was from the inability to predict what was going to happen. No matter what happened, Hermione relished what was to come.


	6. Chapter 6

The door opened to reveal Draco Malfoy, who Hermione noted looked like he hadn't slept in a few days. The bags under his eyes were prominent, and it looked like he hadn't brushed his hair in a few days. However, despite his general look of exhaustion, his blue eyes remained sharp and his clothes were meticulously ironed. Hermione's curiosity would eventually get the best of her, but she knew well enough to let the situation of asking why he looked tired arise organically.

"Welcome, you two," Draco said, his voice a surprising tranquil monotone. His greeting went further than a bland welcome: Draco brought Blaise into a terse hug, and he shook Hermione's hand as if he didn't have to but only reluctantly wanted to. Despite that strange behavior, no doubt expected since he had only changed his views on magical prejudicial behaviors a little over a year and a half ago. How could Hermione complain about a slow moving change toward equality? It was a start, she supposed, and it was better than nothing.

Nevertheless, he beckoned both Hermione and Blaise into the living room, and both marveled at the immediate contrast. Despite the austere exterior, the interior gave off a sense of lived-in coziness, with lots of orange and red hued earth tones in the decor and plenty of natural sunlight from the bay window immediately to their left. No one talked as Draco led them to sink into the comforts of the comfortable couch.

"Who's your interior designer?" Blaise asked. The joking tone of his voice meant well but Draco seemed a little too upset at what Hermione understood to be a simple joke.

"Ginny," Draco explained, his eyes steeling.

"I noticed," Hermione said of her friend, "it's very much her style."

"She drives me crazy sometimes!" Draco blurted out, and Hermione was jolted by his sudden emotions. As Blaise raised a curious yet confused eyebrow, Draco scrambled to come up with a softer response.

"I actually don't hate her, as I was once convinced to believe," Draco explained, a tiny bit embarrassed, "but she's...a bulldozer. It's hard to stop her once she starts something, and she doesn't always want to listen." Hermione let out a chuckle.

"What's so funny?" Draco barked.

"That sounds like Ginny. Our firecracker!" Hermione exclaimed. She continued, softer and gentler this time, "If you want, Draco, we can get together so I can help you find coping strategies to deal with Ginny. She's a handful, and I get it." Draco nodded in appreciation.

"I'd like that. I do want to make this work, even if we've been incompatible once," Draco said.

The tenderness of the moment between Hermione and Draco dissipated when loud footsteps drowned out all other noise.

"Holy shit, Draco, you won't believe who I-" that was a familiar voice: it belonged to Ginny Weasley, and it was a welcome distraction.

"Hermione!" Ginny shrieked in disbelief, interrupting her own thoughts. "I can't believe you're here. I missed you." The two girls wrapped each other in an intense, warm hug.

"I can't believe we haven't talked to each other sooner," Hermione said as they broke apart.

"Me neither. It's been tough being married and all," Ginny said, making a point to glare daggers at Draco. Blaise rolled his eyes, but no one seemed to notice his blatant discomfort.

"To be fair, _honey_," Draco said, emphasizing the hiss in the term of endearment, "you were the one to start most of our fights."

"I swear to Merlin, if you both start fighting right now, I will strangle the both of you and move in here myself," Blaise said, opening his mouth for the first time since they entered. All eyes were on Blaise.

"By the way, Ginny, it's nice to see you," Blaise continued, and the tension broke.

"Would you care for some tea?" Ginny asked.

"That would be lovely," Hermione said, and Blaise silently agreed.

No one spoke, and the only noise came from the kettle boiling water in the kitchen, which was the next room over.

"What's it like being married? I think we've taken it pretty well. Don't you think so, Blaise?" Hermione said, restraining herself from babbling as she wanted to do in times of anxiety induced silence.

Draco and Ginny gave each other a knowing look, full of heightened emotions Hermione would never even begin to understand. Both Draco and Ginny looked back at Blaise and Hermione, who were both twiddling their thumbs trying to understand the situation.

"It's fine," Draco and Ginny said in unison, as if the bland, terse answer was all that was needed. Blaise raised an eyebrow.

"Are you sure about that? We were called over for emotional support. We can leave if all is good," Blaise said, and he squeezed Hermione's hand. She knew what that meant: he had a plan and Hermione was along for the ride to play along. Draco looked increasingly upset, but Ginny remained calm.

"We can manage a lot if we put our minds to it," Ginny explained, her cool voice betraying the anxiety clearly written on her face. Draco looked ready to burst with emotion, something Hermione wasn't expecting. However, it was something Blaise seemed to understand like the back of his hand.

"Ginny, we don't have to save face any more, even though I want to," Draco admitted, and Hermione was pleasantly taken aback. It was an unexpected move to admit fault. The once arrogant Draco was stripped down to bare emotion.

"I see that look on your face, Hermione. Don't look down on me for having emotions! It's hard being married at nineteen when you've got so much to cope with on your plate," Draco's outburst at this moment was more aligned with the schoolyard bully Hermione had known in Hogwarts.

"I'm not judging you at all," Hermione said, wanting to get upset but holding back. She probably did sound defensive. In her defense, how else was she supposed to respond? Hermione was disappointed in herself for not knowing the answer.

Truthfully, she was unsure if she was doing a good job being a functional human being after all the trauma of the War had built up within. Hermione was grateful that she'd inevitably be called out if she was out of line: she trusted her friends well enough to tell her when she was going wrong.

"In fact, what my wife is trying to say is that she expected something different," Blaise said, and Hermione blushed at being called Blaise's wife even though it was a statement of fact rather than anything truly emotional. Blaise and Hermione held hands. It was a small but appreciated sign of affection Draco took a deep breath, no doubt to steady himself.

"Besides, aren't we here for moral support anyway?" Hermione asked.

"We could all use a little support from each other. It's what friends are for," Blaise added. On an impulse Hermione didn't expect, he grabbed Draco's hands. Blaise's brown eyes met Draco's blue ones, and Draco looked relieved to have that sense of stability. Hermione imitated Blaise by meeting Ginny's bright brown eyes, dulled by the anxiety of not being able to relate to the idea of married life.

"Okay," Ginny said, breaking the ice, "I surrender. I need help. I don't know how to relate to Draco because we're so different. I just don't get him at all! Logic and reason go right out the window when he does something I don't like, and he won't look at me when I mess up." Ginny ended up ranting a bit, but her emotions were valid even if the expression of them were undoubtedly immature.

"For one thing, Ginny, I _try_ to talk with you when things go wrong. But you stop listening! All you do is try to bulldoze me into agreeing with you, which isn't fair. I have opinions, too, you know," Draco exclaimed, bolting upright from his seat on a recliner to face a pouting Ginny.

"Both of you, stop it right now. You're acting like children and this is unreasonable," Hermione said, channeling her inner Professor McGonagall. It worked because Ginny and Draco stared at her with wide-eyed reverence, breaking out of their bickering reveries.

"We get that you're both upset because of this difficult situation but my God, you both need to use your words," Blaise added.

"We've tried-" Draco offered, but Ginny glared at his meek offer.

"Try harder," Blaise said. Ginny flinched at his bluntness.

"What he means to say is that this will be a constant lifestyle change. If you two want to not eviscerate each other every time you fight, you'll have to keep up the work," Hermione added. Draco and Ginny both took a deep breath in unison. The atmosphere in the room relaxed. Hermione knew for a fact that she wasn't a miracle worker, and that having a stern talk with Ginny and Draco wouldn't save their marriage-that was solely in their hands, and how they coped was not for Hermione to control, even if she wanted to, in Ginny's best interest of course-but it was certainly a start.

"This is going to be a long night, isn't it?" Ginny asked, and Hermione wasn't sure if it was wholly a joke but she laughed anyway. The mood was lighter and it showed. Draco's shoulders relaxed, and he stopped clenching his jaw.

"It'll definitely be a long marriage, that's for sure," Draco said in an attempt to keep the mood light.

Now that the atmosphere wasn't bogged down by a condensed attempt at marital therapy, the real connection began. Blaise and Hermione listened in rapture at Draco telling about the year he faced: Lucius was in Azkaban and, despite escaping jail time, Narcissa confined herself to a small flat just outside of Muggle London, acting as a hermit until everything calmed down in the Wizarding world. Hermione never realized how charismatic Draco could be, given the right circumstances of course. He was a lively storyteller, and captivated the room discussing how he was emotionally left alone to cope with a Wizarding population left in ruins after the War.

Everything was coming up roses.

* * *

It was close to nine-thirty in the evening when Draco and Ginny let Hermione and Blaise home for the night, wherein Ginny made Hermione promise to keep in constant contact and Draco did the same for Blaise.

"I have an important question," Hermione started, a little more hesitant than she expected.

"What is it?" Blaise's brown eyes met Hermione's hazel ones, unassuming and soothing.

"Where are we going to live? Now that we're married," Hermione put a cheeky emphasis on married, after the whole fiasco that was Draco and Ginny's married life, "we should probably have a place to live together." Blaise considered Hermione's question.

"My mother's got a cottage a few miles northeast from Hogwarts. She wouldn't mind us staying there as long as we're clean. Plus she never uses it unless she wants to holiday for a week or two in the summer. It's simply gorgeous. I think you'd appreciate the scenery." Blaise mused, the lovely cadence of his voice indicated he was calm and, dare Hermione say it, in a good mood. He was a roller coaster of emotions today, as was Hermione, and it was a strange sight to see. Witnessing a man like Blaise was fun in its own surprising way.

He was wholly unlike Hermione and her expectations were pleasantly exceeded. She was expecting more snobbishness, more aloof arrogance. But she was wrong, and it was the first time in Hermione's life that she was delighted to be wrong.

"That sounds lovely. When can we move in?" Hermione asked. She wasn't expecting a concrete answer, but something to work with in terms of a vague timeline would help. It would be unrealistic for Hermione to expect to stay with the Weasleys indefinitely. She'd feel like she'd take advantage of their kindness, and Hermione could accept that in good conscious.

"As soon as you'd like. Today, even. Right now, if you're feeling spontaneous or energetic or both." His eyes twinkled and Hermione would've been swept off her feet if he wasn't being so impulsive. She was taken aback at his comment, enough to flinch.

"Not today," Hermione said, her voice unexpected in its harshness and Blaise looked crestfallen. She added, somewhat hastily she might have added, because she didn't want to hurt his feelings, "because too much has happened for me to process. But in a few days, I think it would be a good idea. After I collect my stuff from the Burrow-I stayed with the Weasley family for a while, and I'm going to have to say good-bye one last time since they were so good to me," Hermione explained, anxiety bubbling within her chest. Thankfully, Blaise understood and escorted her to the Burrow that night.

Was this relationship moving too fast? Probably. But they were not in a relationship under normal circumstances, and Hermione, in her frustration, wasn't sure how to articulate why she was stuck on being so upset. She was not particularly strong at coping with stress, and this flaw felt like something that would permanently hinder her. Without proper support, Hermione would likely flounder in her own head, stuck in her own feelings indefinitely. Right now she was feeling particularly vulnerable, but she didn't know specifically how to word it, worried she would be rehashing already treaded water.


	7. Chapter 7

Having left Malfoy Manor just minutes ago, Hermione realized, with a blooming anxiety in the pit of her stomach, that she had to move in with Blaise sooner rather than later. Hermione noticed this was a kind of anxiety that felt more akin to giddiness than true fear. She was, dare she say it, looking forward to it. She wanted to connect with Blaise on a deeper, more emotional level. Getting to know him was something she'd realized would have to happen sooner rather than later, on her own terms. It might as well be a fun experience she looked forward to doing, rather than something she dreaded.

"Do you want me to accompany you to The Burrow?" Blaise asked, breaking Hermione out of her reverie. It was jarring, but necessary; she had to think fast.

"I don't want to impose on Mrs. Weasley. Plus I don't want to make you uncomfortable," Hermione said, the self-conscious part of her wanting to keep her life separate arising within her.

"Whatever you say. I figured you'd, at the very least, want help transporting your stuff to our new place together," Blaise said. Hermione felt a pang of electricity in her heart at his words. They were going to be living together! It was exciting in the most frightening way possible.

"I'm expecting to be a while. Maybe I'll stay overnight to process the day and catch up with both Weasleys. I'm not sure, really. I haven't decided, but I'll keep you up to date about my decisions," Hermione was babbling, she knew as much, but it was better to say too much and redact rather than the opposite.

"Let's decide now: I'll come back in the morning so we can move in, but I will come back if you call me at my mother's. Here's the number, and you can call me from the Burrow when you need it. Removes the worry of uncertainty," Blaise scribbled his mother's number on Hermione's arm with a pen she didn't realize he had on his person.

"I'll see you tomorrow?" Hermione, despite being tentative, felt genuine excitement at the idea of being reunited, even if it was only twenty-four hours from now.

"Yes, of course I will, darling," Blaise said, and bent down to kiss her on the cheek. They went their own separate ways glowing.

* * *

The Burrow looked the same as it had before, with the same warmth and charm Hermione loved. The strange architecture, with each floor having been built on top of each other in an asymmetrical way, made the building more charming. Despite not taking gravity into account, it was a sturdy building that had weathered decades of storms and would likely weather more for as long as a Weasley was able to live in this house.

When Hermione walked closer, the whole house seemed different upon closer inspection. Cleaner, somehow. Newer, even. She knocked on the door, the ornate dragon knocker (courtesy of Charlie, no doubt) making Hermione's presence known. she heard the clunking movements of shoes on wood paneled floors. A new sound was a faint barking. Did the Weasleys get a dog?

Her thoughts were cut short when the door opened to Molly Weasley, looking surprisingly well rested.

"Welcome, dear! I missed you around the house. Come in, come in. Would you like tea? I have some made already. There's so much to talk about." Molly's energy was infectious and genuine in its wholesome nature. The Burrow had been as quiet as it had ever been; in the time since Hermione knew the Weasleys, it had been overrun with the chatter of people and their related commotion. But now, it was an empty nest. Arthur and Molly must have been beside themselves with free time, peace, and quiet.

Molly ushered Hermione to the nearest couch, guided her to the couch, and placed a cup of tea in her hands before Herimone could even answer.

"Make yourself at home. Can you believe that marriage law? It's surely something else," Molly said as if she would die if she'd stop talking, but Hermione revelled in it. She seemed so happy to have company that Hermione wasn't even able to be bothered at being bulldozed into a conversation. It was a welcome change from the bleakness of wallowing in her own feelings, at the very least.

"It sure is something else. How have Percy, Charlie, George, and Ron handling being matched?" A million thoughts raced through Hermione's mind in a minute, and she wasn't sure how to keep up. She'd have to make a mental note to connect Her mouth went faster than her mind, then she kept saying, "I saw Ginny just this afternoon, and she seems to need time to adjust. I haven't had the time quite yet to contact everyone. I hope they're all doing well."

Molly seemed to enjoy herself having companionship of any kind, and it just dawned on Hermione that this was the first time she truly had an empty house. People came and went for so long that people permanently leaving must've been a shock to Molly's system.

"As you might have already known, Bill was already married to Fleur and expecting their first when the marriage law was enacted so they were exempt." That made sense to Hermione, and she wondered distantly what Bill and Fleur were to name their newborn child. Molly was, no doubt, over the moon at having her first grand-child.

Molly continued. "Charlie was matched with someone so unlike himself that I can't imagine what the Ministry was thinking. Ron mentioned that she was a girl your year. Do you remember Padma Patil?" Hermione didn't even need to think hard to remember Padma. They were in the same year at Hogwarts, but in Ravenclaw. Despite her popularity, from what Hermione remembered, Padma was still an icy girl with a love of puzzles and

"Distinctly. Chatty girl. She wasn't someone I was particularly close to," Hermione responded. She was on a different side of the social spectrum at Hogwarts, surrounded by her friends and peers who were like her in Ravenclaw. Hermione would've liked Padma if she was more approachable. It was a strange choice, but one that could cause some interesting growth in reserved Charlie. On the other hand, Charlie would have a calming influence on Padma. Hermione kept sipping her tea in hopes that it would keep her from saying something she'd regret. Molly seemed oblivious to Hermione's comment, and kept talking. Hermione wasn't used to her talking so much, but it was a welcome change.

"Percy was, surprisingly, matched with a coworker named Audrey Medina. She's a beautiful, bookish young woman much like Percy but more outgoing. She'll bring the best out of him, I hope," Hermione wondered if Audrey was the kind of person who could stand Percy for long enough to reproduce, like the law stated. Truly, though, it was none of her business.

"When did you meet Audrey?" Hermione asked. She had nothing else of interest to ask, really. It was all that Hermione wanted to know. She'd meet them when the time came, and form her own opinions when she was given the space to do so.

"Two days ago, actually. Audrey is traditional and wanted to meet the parents," Molly was glowing, and so, when she segued into who Ron married, it was strange to see her entire being change.

"Ron is with that awful Millicent Bulstrode girl. An Amazonian brute, if I say so myself. Almost as tall as Ron, and probably wider." Hermione was taken aback by Molly's words. The whiplash in the speed in which the mood change was palpable. The words were harsh and jarring in their anger. Hermione wouldn't call herself a Slytherin sympathizer, by any means, but being married to a Slytherin changed a lot of what Hermione thought as "normal".

"Have you ever even met Millicent?" Hermione asked. This was the closest she'd get to get an explanation as to what Molly's thought process was; what could Hermione say, her curiosity got the better of her.

"Briefly, yes. Ron brought _her _over when he picked up his stuff to move in together," Molly spat, as if Millicent's entire existence was a blight. Hermione steeled herself so she wouldn't push Molly into more anger. This was a trait of hers Hermione had to accommodate for as long as she was close with the Weasleys.

Without warning, Molly had calmed down.

"Would you like more tea?" Molly asked, and Hermione let out a breath.

"Sure. Do you have chamomile? I had a long day and I'd like to relax," Hermione responded with an obvious frazzled tone that Molly understood.

"Would you like to stay the night?" Molly asked, her eyes twinkling.

"Sure, that would be wonderful. I'm pretty tired." Molly gave Hermione a sympathetic look, and Hermione gave a weak smile in return.

"You can sleep in Ginny's old room, and you can stay as long as you'd like." Today, Hermione realized, was a day she'd remember for a while. She walked up the stairs, weaved her way to Ginny's room, changed into pajamas, and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

Hermione woke up the next morning bright and early. Being a morning person was second nature now, a long time habit built on a foundation of consistency. She changed into a new outfit, carried her packed duffle bag downstairs, and went to the kitchen to make herself breakfast.

"Molly, can I use your landline?" Hermione asked, and she expected a simple question to get a simple answer. Instead, Molly seemed confused. Hermione continued with, "I'm going to use your landline to make a call to my...husband, Blaise." The hesitation to call Blaise her husband was probably what sent Molly into baffling silence, as if Hermione asked permission to murder someone.

"Are you okay? Should I find another mode of contacting Blaise? He's my ride home." Hermione thought her words were unremarkable, kind even, but the look of fury and confusion sitting on Molly's face told a different story.

Hermione took a seat at the table and looked Molly straight in the eye. "What I'm going to say is not polite, but it needs to be said. You're not acting like yourself, and I'd like to get some answers. I'm going to stay here, sitting at the kitchen table, staring at you until you explain your erratic behavior." Molly stood her ground for a few minutes of agonizing silence. Hermione kept up her thousand-yard stare. Molly sighed.

"I'm going to be honest with you, dear, and it may be hard to hear," Molly said, in a tone that implied something dark and sinister. Relief surged through Hermione at the thought of candid discussion. "I think I could've done much better than these..._undesirable_ women," Hermione flinched at the word undesirable.

"What do you mean undesirable?" Hermione asked, and she knew it was a loaded question to ask a protective woman like Molly, but it had to be done. Maybe Hermione could say something to convince Molly of something otherwise.

"They're an ill fit, and they can't possibly be good enough for my babies," Molly explained, and although it wasn't what Hemione expected, she expected worse because the cynical part of her realized, though, that Molly's statement of intense protection made sense.

"I know it's hard to watch your children get married and move away," Hermione said in her most calming voice, "but you have to accept that this is the law, and you can't break the law because you love them too much." It pained her to admit that Hermione, too, had to abide by rules she didn't want to accept, but it was the truth. Truth was all she had now, alongside friends and her own found family. Everyone around her, who had to grow up in a society that forced everyone compartmentalize their trauma, had to pick and choose their battles. Pretending to be happy was the consequence of a broken society, and Hermione had to accept that alongside Molly.

"Hermione, you don't have to comfort me. I'll move on. Let me grieve for the family I love forced to participate in a heartless, overly-bureaucratic law," Molly explained, and Hermione tacitly understood every bit of Molly's pain in that moment. They embraced, and it was good to have someone who understood.

When their hug stopped, Molly stood up from her seat in the living room.

"Would you still like to use the landline? It hasn't been used much lately but it should suffice in calling Blaise," Molly lead Hermione to the landline, a clunky but useful piece of technology that seemed a little cold in the otherwise cozy, inviting house.

Hermione dialed Blaise's number, and the phone rang twice before a female voice picked up.

"Hello?" Hermione asked, her voice unusually hesitant.

"Who is this?" The female voice barked.

"I'm Hermione Granger. Is this the correct phone number for Blaise Zabini?" A muffled, melodic laugh filled Hermione's ears.

"So you're the fabled Hermione," said the voice in a moment of smug, yet somehow triumphant, joy.

"I would take that as a compliment if I knew who exactly was complimenting me," Hermione responded.

"I'm Blaise's sister, Constance. He's normally pretty quiet but he talks about you a lot. For someone who forcibly got married, he's pretty happy about the whole thing," said Constance, and Hermione's heart fluttered. She finally got to meet the fabled Constance!

"I'm honored to meet you, Constnace. I hope to meet in person. Can you pass the phone to Blaise? I need to speak with him."

"Of course." Staticky silence filled Hermione's ears.

"Hello, Hermione. It's Blaise," he said.

"I'm at the Burrow, all packed and ready to move into the manor whenever you're willing to have me." A flurry of emotions exploded within Hermione's brain and she couldn't find the words to decipher what was going on. She yearned for an uneventful life of contentedness, without drama or having to save the world. She just wanted to be Hermione Jane Granger, without frills and without apology. But what if Blaise expected something different? She couldn't ever know without living with him. She wanted to make the plunge.

"I can pick you up in about forty-five minutes. See you then." Without so much as another word, he hung up. Hermione did as well, not having the energy to question his bluntness. She turned to Molly and hugged her one last time, before gathering up her bags and starting on her new adventure living with her husband.

For now, Blaise was the next step for a new, unknown world, full of excitement and fear.


	9. Chapter 9

Total travel time with Blaise to his cottage was a little over an hour and a half on public transport. Hermione had gotten used to the usage of public transport, and had even come to enjoy it, especially since it meant more time with Blaise. He made for a wonderful companion, even if his energy levels were often inconsistent.

"What did you do without me these past few days?" Hermione asked, keeping her tone light. Blaise seemed a little out of it, so she didn't expect him to be the most chatty or energetic. He shrugged.

"I've been a little worried," Blaise admitted. It seemed like a big deal for him to admit this, as he spent most of his youth as a cunning and prideful person without much interest in empathy. Hermoine saw him as vulnerable, lonely even, which conflicted with a previous image of him. She wouldn't have believed that the man in front of her was the same person as his youth. She briefly wondered if people changed that much in a year. Hermione wasn't sure, but the War was an...extenuating circumstance, forcing change onto people.

"About what? Is there anything you feel comfortable sharing?" Hermione asked, and wondered briefly if he was able to drop his pride long enough to explain. Blaise sat still, as if not reacting would change the situation. Hermione clung to optimism that it was something solvable. Blaise's stillness unnerved Hermione, who began to clasp her hands together in anticipation.

"I'm going to be candid with you: I'm actually pretty nervous about living together," Blaise said, then realized his voice sounded harsher than it should have. He reached for her hand and took it with his own, gently squeezing.

"It's going to work out. We have to get used to each other is all," Hermione said, and she sat closer to Blaise in hopes to be comforting. "I wish I had something better to say. We can talk about coping mechanisms. That's my forte." Hermione continued, letting a small chuckle leave her lips.

"We're gonna survive," Hermione said, doing her best to hide the hesitation in her voice.

"I certainly hope so," Blaise responded, cynicism coloring his voice in a vivid, noticeable way. It was the best response she was going to get, so she hoped enough for the two of them.

* * *

Any amount of walking she had to do with the luggage, filled to the brim with clothes and books, was a nightmare for Hermione. Although she thought of herself It felt like an eternity passed but in reality, it was only fifteen or twenty minutes. The further away Blaise and Hermione walked from the city, the more lush and green the scenery became; as Blaise suggested, Hermione couldn't stop staring at her tranquil surroundings. Trees seemed to stand taller, prouder around her. Their leaves were a brighter shade of green, so vivid and clear that it seemed fake. As the warm rays of golden sunlight dappled through the leaves, Hermione noticed that delicate flowers seemed to stand taller and with more striking shades of pink, yellow, and red.

It was a gorgeous day and it seemed fitting that a new life would arise from such a pretty day; with every step taken, passing by grassy knolls dotted with various forms of plant life (lavender and heather, mostly, but there were some peonies and pansies as well), Hermione realized with a churning stomach that she was one step closer to the next phase in her life.

A pale turquoise cottage with white trim and plenty of windows came into Hermione's vision. This cottage made Hermione gasp in awe. The architecture lacked the ostentatious touch Hermione expected. After all, it was owned by a decidedly flashy woman with aristocratic taste, Blaise and Hermione stood at the start of a quaint cobblestone walkway, with a yard tended with such meticulous care that Hermione was surprised no one lived here

"Here we are: the Zabini cottage!" Blaise declared, and the obvious pride in his voice seemed incongruent with the initial description of the place: an unused house atop a plot of land tucked too far deep in the countryside for people to notice, let alone care.

Ivy and bougainvillea wrapped around the pillars that held up the shingled roof. The wooden steps, ones that likely haven't been painted in years, led to the porch creaked under the weight of the two young adults. Blaise opened the door to reveal a living room without so much as a single decoration on the wall that wasn't already with the cottage.

The wallpaper was a cheesy turquoise, cream, and gold pattern of incomprehensible birds and floral patterns that clashed greatly. All of the furniture was at least three decades old, but looked worn enough to be comfortable. It could all be replaced, so this was the least of Hermione's worries. She placed her duffle bags in a corner of the room she wouldn't forget. Hermione was too tired to unpack now.

A woman who was the spitting image of Blaise sat in the brown couch in the living room. Her energy was infectious, and if Hermione wasn't so taken aback, she would've been excited. Blaise shared the same chiseled, angular features, the same blue-black ringlets that bounced with a childish energy, even the same placement of an aquiline nose a little too large for an otherwise symmetrical face.

"Constance?" Blaise froze in place, so many emotions flooding his being that he seemed to shut down.

"Surprise," the young woman who must've been Constgance admitted sheepishly, a grin spreading across her diamond-shaped face. She acted as if she was caught in the middle of a crime but the terror on Blaise's face said otherwise.

"Blaise, I'm happy to see you!" She approached Blaise as if approaching a feral animal. He stepped back from her in an attempt

"What are you doing here?" He asked as if he was ready for murder, but Constance was calm and collected, as if nothing happened.

"Oh, you didn't hear?" The flippant tone was unnerving, even to Hermione, who was too enraptured with what could've possibly unraveled from this unpredictable story to make a Mother's moving to Paris with husband number eight soon. Fern and I were sent here until everything's worked out." Blaise buried his face in his hands to regain what little composure he had left.

"Why didn't Mother tell me this?" Blaise said after a long moment of agonizing silence.

"Mother didn't know about you living here, though, to be fair," Constance snarled. Hermione's instincts told her to intervene before anything got darker, but this was an unprovoked attack and she didn't know Constance well enough to ascertain if this was normal behavior. She was seventeen, after all, and was likely prone to emotional outbursts like any hormonal girl her age raised in a time of war.

"What the hell's wrong with you? Why does that even matter?" Blaise exploded.

"Because you abandoned me and Fern with Mother! We shouldn't have had to fend for ourselves while you got to do Merlin knows what," Contsance barked, and Blaise looked as if he was going to cry.

"I'm going to my room. We'll talk later." Blaise disappeared up the rickety stairs, and an agonizing, uncomfortable silence fell between Hermione and Constance. This familial drama was not Hermione's place to understand, but it felt like a test she would never be prepared for as an only child of parents who were always married to each other.

"What just happened?" Hermione asked, grateful that she had kept herself out of this incomprehensible fight. Constance shrugged.

"Blaise gets in his moods sometimes. It'll pass," Constnace explained as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Hermione was shocked that this was her response, and HErmione wasn't sure how to respond.

"I'm hoping for the best," Hermione said. She wanted to stay neutral for as long as possible, or at least until she knew all of the facts to this story.

"Oh, silly me! Where are my manners. Hello there, I'm Constance. Nice to meet you. What's your name?" Constance chirped, as if nothing had happened at all. Constance extended her hand for a shake.

"Hello, I'm Hermione. Nice to meet you as well," Hermione said, grabbing Constance's hand to shake it. The younger girl had a firm handshake, and Hermione made sure to return the favor.

"Would you like a tour?" Constance asked, and Hermione thought she'd never leave this living room.

"Sure, I'd love to. I hope the interior is as lovely as the exterior," Hermione said, in an attempt to make small talk.

"It's pretty lovely once you forget this cottage was a gift from one of my Mother's lovers," Constance was not what Hermione would call polite or tactful, but she was quite a character. The living room, which had two simple brown recliners and a tacky floral couch that faced a fireplace, connected directly to a kitchen that likely hadn't been updated since the late 1970s.

Said kitchen was decorated with harshly contrasting wood and marble and a little bit of stainless steel. There was a refrigerator, an electric stove, an oven, and three kettles of varying colors and designs. Cabinets lined the ceiling, and there were no doubt a few sets of silverware located in it to eat off of.

"Despite Mother's neglectful tendencies, she was an adept cook," Constance explained with a wistful sigh. Hermione smiled.

Constance showed Hermione a random closet space as if it was a marvel. "I snogged so many guys here, and no one ever figured out. You're one of the few people I've ever told," explained Constance.

"Is there any reason you trust me enough to tell me?" Hermione chuckled.

"Because there's something about you that I like," Constance said with a leonine grin.

Despite the fact that it seemed like a functionally useless room, Constance was proud of this space. Nothing was stored in there except for hangers and one solitary coat that looked like no one would fit in it due to its comically small size.

What Hermione was most excited for was the library. Despite her high expectations, it was even more sparsely decorated than the living room. Hermione couldn't wait to make it her own it was a dusty, mildewy room with books written in many languages Hermione couldn't understand. The only decorations were definitely chosen half-heartedly: a sconce here, a dusty table there, and dilapidated shelves surrounding the whole dark, damp room.

Hermione found herself enjoying the tour. Constance was quite the experience, and went beyond being a strange character. Hermione left her expectations behind.


	10. Chapter 10

Hermione got so side-tracked and swept up by the wholly unique tour Constance gave of the cottage that, for the moments of said tour, Hermione's cares melted away. Constance talked like her life depended on it, her words spoken fast and slurred with unclear enunciation. The most confusing aspect was that Constance acted too familiar with Hermione, as if they had been childhood friends who simply lost touch.

There was something unnerving yet fascinating, really, to learn about a life she never lived from someone like Constance, whose manic energy only seemed to intensify with every speck of attention. She was unpredictable, without a care in the world and it was unfathomable to Hermione how she could have this much energy without going truly batty.

"How'd you like the tour?" Constance asked, and she waited with bated breath to hear Hermione's response. Even Constance's curls seemed to bounce with excitement. She hesitated, fearing she'd hurt the young woman's feelings if she said the wrong thing. Choosing her words carefully would be something she'd have to do around Constance for a while. At least, until Hermione knew Constance better.

"It was informative," Hermione responded, and it wasn't a lie: she genuinely learned a lot about the extravagant three bedroom, two bathroom house; it was bigger than her own home, and that was a jarring experience.

Each room was decorated in this strange, monotone way that tried to scream cozy minimalist but just barely succeeded. The plain walls in each of the five rooms were painted a solemn shade of earthy orange-brown. Within each room, they had one medium-sized window where soft light filter in through with ease. Beds had ruffled duvets and fluffy pillows made as if it had been half-made that morning, and string lights across the ceiling, acting as trim. Nothing else was in the room, not even any bookshelves. It was a design choice she found somewhat contradictory but it could be intriguing, if there was any effort placed in it beyond keeping it furnished.

Constance visibly relaxed, letting a sigh release from her lips. It seemed as if Hermione's approval was the most important thing in the world. It took a few moments for the tension Hermione felt to leave, and take off the rose colored glasses; now, she had been more firmly planted in reality. As she stood in the living room, where she had initially entered, she realized that she hadn't talked to Blaise in a few hours. Last she saw him, he was a disaster waiting to happen. What if there was nothing to do for him but let him stew in his emotions?

"Constance, do you know where Blaise went? He was in his room last I checked, but it's been a while and I didn't see him during the tour," Hermione asked. She shrugged. Was that normal behavior from Constance, to simply sweep things under the rug if they bothered her or asked too much of her?

"Give him a few hours to be a gigantic baby and sort out his emotions. He'll be back and ready to cope with this when he's ready. Until then, can I make you some tea?" Hermione wasn't really accepting of Constance's explanation but it would be the best she'd get.

"What kind of tea do you have? I'm partial to anything with citrus," Hermione said, and Constance made sure to make the biggest pot of tea she could manage.

* * *

Over an hour passed with Hermione and Constance chatting, getting to know each other, and generally "shooting the shit" (as Ron would so delicately describe it). It would have been relaxing if a nagging voice in the back of Hermione's mind hadn't kept whispering that she should be more worried about Blaise.

Without warning, the doorbell rang. Hermione stood from her seat to open it, and when she did, she was relieved to know it was Blaise. He seemed no different from earlier, except for his usually meticulously styled hair being more scruffy.

"Welcome home. You had me worried sick! Please talk to me about where you're going next time. If you ever pull a stunt like this again, I swear-" Before Hermione could finish, Blaise let himself in. His calm, quiet demeanor was a little chilling, if Hermione was to be honest with herself.

"Can I talk with you in private?" Blaise interrupted, and Hermione acquiesced to his demand. His tone wasn't angry and his body language wasn't aggressive They walked upstairs into one of the bedrooms.

"I wanted to apologize for my earlier actions. I was being rash and I often forget I'm not the only one experiencing emotions," Blaise explained with genuine remorse.

"I accept your apology," Hermione started, "and I hope we can find a way to cope with Constance together. If she's to stay with us for any length of time beyond two days, I think we've got a lot to deal with." Hermione wanted to be a parent, but she wanted fair warning. She liked Constance well enough, but Hermione was unsure what her role would be; she wasn't feeling competent enough to raise a hellion of a teenager.

"I agree. I can't promise how long she'll be here, but I _will _talk to Mother about this," Blaise said.

"Do you need any help figuring out what to say? I could help if you need it," Hermione offered, and she yearned to be more helpful beyond being moral support with an affinity for words. Blaise seemed wholly disinterested, but it likely wasn't personal. He seemed weary, like he'd dealt with this before.

"I'll sleep on it before I decide anything. I'll keep you in the loop, too. I don't want to deal with Constance or Mother with such high emotions," Blaise responded, then continued with, "I love Constance to death, and my mother definitely means well. I don't know if we're capable of raising Constance without thorough discussion. Especially since she's got school, and I'm not risking her education because our Mother is irresponsible."

It seemed like a lot to handle, what with two women who had strong, clashing personalities, but he had a grip on it. He also had a lifetime of experience, so at least there was history for him to gain a better idea of how to handle the situation.

"Would you like to get something to eat? It should be about dinner time," Hermione offered in an attempt to change the subject. She knew she was hungry, and she deduced he must've been famished after a long day.

"Sure. I'm positive that there's no food in the house, but we also might have to bring Constance," Blaise responded.

"Do you want to get something to eat, Constance?" He asked, as he walked to Constance in the next room over. Hermione followed, unsure what to do on her own.

"I'm going out with friends," Constance explained as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, "don't wait up."

"You know the drill: don't be out past ten-thirty, call me if you need anything, don't be a moron," Blaise explained as Constance walked out the door, jokingly dismissing his words. He turned to Hermione.

"Where do you want to go?" Blaise asked and Hermione shrugged.

"Somewhere nice, but where we don't have to break the bank. It is, after all, our first date," Hermione said, unable to hold back from bringing up something trivial as this sentimental fact.

"Yeah, you're right. That makes me think of the perfect place. It's gonna be a secret, though," Blaise was finally in a positive mood. The playful tone of his voice made Hermione's heart skip a beat in excitement. She couldn't wait to spend more time with her husband. (Calling him that, though, was incredibly weird, and would remain so for a while.)


	11. Chapter 11

"The suspense is killing me," Hermione joked during their travels to their first official date. Blaise smirked, and it was the first time she was reminded of his old Slytherin self. He had been overly cheery and energetic since she started to know him as a mate.

It could've been a facade Blaise had put on since leaving Hogwarts, Hermione thought, because it was better to be safe by means of placating others. It was, after all, easier to lay low without drawing suspicion to yourself by being over the top in any capacity. However, she couldn't be sure if it was his true personality or not without getting to know him better. Normally, she'd welcome the contradiction of logic-based conspiracies she couldn't readily prove one way or another. It seemed useless to speculate about Blaise. He seemed truly unknowable, an enigma wrapped in a guarded but saccharine box.

"Do you like Italian?" Blaise asked. His neutral tone confused Hermione, whose brows began to furrow in curiosity.

"I like it well enough," Hermione said, and the tension in Blaise shoulders released.

"I'll accept the damnation with faint praise for now. Just you wait until you try Coscarelli's. It's the fanciest hole in the wall you'll ever try," Blaise's genuine excitement was infectious.

"I wonder how a fancy hole in the wall would even work," Hermione asked aloud.

"It's genuinely difficult to explain. There's a certain...ambiance about it that only a fancy casual and unknown place like this can have. All I ask is that you keep your mind open, okay?" Something about Blaise's beseeching tone, over-excited and childishly excited, was enough.

"Consider me convinced," Hermione chirped. It was a little hollow to be so easily convinced, but this was her chance to get to know Blaise, and vice-versa. He was less a stranger, and more a roommate. She didn't feel that romantic spark, but it hadn't been all that long being in a relationship with him, if one could even call what was essentially an arranged marriage anything but an arranged marriage. Hermione's yearning for connection outweighed the logical part of her that wanted to question everything.

"I'm glad. It's called Coscarelli's and everything is handmade to order. It's delicious in ways you can't even imagine," Blaise's excitement was infectious, and for a moment, Hermione was mesmerized by the bubble of excitement.

* * *

The Italian restaurant being called Coscarelli's was a simple enough name to remember. Hermione noted that the outside was nothing to look at, but Blaise had reassured her it was apparently, a deliberate choice.

"I can't believe that this is what you were gushing over," Hermione said, and she didn't realize how harsh her voice sounded. Blaise flinched, as if her words were poison. She wasn't sure why he was so invested in this place, but she was definitely curious.

"Even though it looks like any old, crumbling brick building right on the edge of a bustling town, it's much more than that," Blaise responded, a little defensive. Hermione let him have that.

"I can't wait to try it," Hermione said, ensuring she sounded excited. Entering the restaurant, however, was an entirely different experience. It was decorated like a living room, with romantic string lights flickering like stars and rich burgundy-colored velvet covering the floors. Although it was fairly mild outside, a brick fireplace crackled quietly, a soothing sound that reminded her of Hogwarts. Leather lounge chairs surrounding the fireplace emanated the kind of welcoming warmth that screamed snug and intimate. Pictures on the walls were of the more pastoral parts of Italy, no doubt actual pictures taken by It was no wonder Blaise chose this place: it felt more like a home than any other home Hermione could've been to.

Hermione and Blaise were led to what Blaise claimed was the best booth in the house: in the corner, away from the main part of the dining room and fairly quiet. As it happened, the kindly man-old enough to be Hermione's father, she thought with a nostalgic wince-who led them to their seat was no on else but one half of the infamous Coscarelli couple. Blaise talked to the older man in fluent Italian, as if they had known each other for many years.

Interestingly, the owners of Coscarelli's were actually employees in the restaurant as well as managers; they led the place with tough love. After talking for a bit, Hermione learned they were a lovely middle-aged couple named Teresa and Giorgio. Their last name was actually Coscarelli, and somehow, Hermione correctly guessed they were in their mid-to-late fifties. She listened carefully to their life story because the way it was told was only a touch convoluted.

The Coscarelli couple had immigrated to England shortly after getting married, which happened about thirty years ago. Once they landed in England, they worked odd jobs to support themselves; with that money, the couple eventually bought a cozy townhome. The birth of their first son, Pascal, had arrived four years after supporting themselves consistently with odd jobs; Carlotta, their second and last child, arrived two years later. With their visa, they opened up a restaurant, which is how Coscarelli's came to be right now; it had been a staple in the city for the past two and a half decades.

"It seems like Coscarelli's has great importance to you, Blaise," Hermione stated. This date was a matter of gaining facts about Blaise; those burning questions that had sat in the back of her mind were now able to see the light of day and receive actual, coherent answers.

"It does, for personal reasons," Blaise's entire demeanor changed, but it was toward an emotion Hermione didn't have the name for: nostalgia, perhaps, or maybe a wistful sense of anguish, if that was an emotion that even existed. The crackling fire and the coziness of the booth they were sitting in made Hermione feel relaxed enough to feel conflicted about asking about Blaise's personal life.

"Can I ask what the reason is? Or is that too personal?" Hermione asked, genuine curiosity in her voice. A part of Hermione did want to pry into Blaise's personal life. A part of her wanted to respect his privacy, also. He deserved that amount of agency in how he wanted to reveal his deepest darkest secrets. Blaise shrugged.

"It's a little hard to explain without sounding emotionally unhinged," Blaise explained sheepishly, "but this place was around during each of my mother's divorces. I could come hang out here and feel comfortable. The Coscarellis really looked out for me. I don't think I'll ever know what they saw in me or why they chose me of all people, but I won't question it. They truly saved my mental health by being better parents than my own mother," Blaise looked as if was about to cry, tears welling up in his eyes. He blotted his eyes, embarrassed by the egregious show of emotion. Hermione placed herself next to Blaise in the booth and gently wrapped her arm around his shoulder in a show of solidarity.

Silence wrapped around the couple like a comfortable shawl. Once Blaise calmed down, any tension between them eased significantly.

"I wanted to deeply apologize for that display of emotion. It's so unbecoming," Blaise said.

"Don't even worry: you're allowed to have emotions. Besides, now that I've seen you cry I can't turn back. I'm in too deep," Hermione let out a chuckle at her corny attempt at a joke. Blaise smiled, albeit weakly.

"I guess I can't turn back, either. I've shared too much," Blaise responded, and Hermione realized that this was a romantic turning point.

"This is how partners are supposed to act. Trusting each other is the next step of our relationship," Hermione said. It was a revelatory epiphany that took a few moments for Blaise to ruminate upon.

"When you put it like that, I'm glad we've made a breakthrough. All of this emotion, though, really makes me hungry. Care to order?" Hermione and Blaise were ready for the next step. A little too conveniently, a waiter arrived and took their order. Blaise had offered the responsibility for paying. He somehow had a stash of Muggle money laying around, and he told her not to worry. However, Hermione couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt. Upon the realization that she'd need to find a way to support herself and her husband financially, Hermione's mind started racing.

Until then, she did her best to put her mind at ease. For the next few hours, Hermione let herself be entranced by the spectacle of an Italian food feast. She had never had such high-quality prosciutto (or any other Italian meats, really, cured or not: fancy food never crossed her mind, even when she had traveled with her parents as a young girl) or even cheese and vegetables in her life. Even the drinks were divine. Reality was shut out for a few hours, and it was actually a welcome relief.


	12. Chapter 12

For the length of dinner, Hermione had been relieved to learn that she really did genuinely enjoy Blaise and his company; there was something about the way he talked that fascinated her the most. His voice was a melodic tenor, and Hermione briefly wondered if he ever considered singing. A part of her worried she overestimated her interest in him because their arrangement forced them together. He talked almost nonstop about a wide array of topics, usually Wizarding politics she'd never begin to fully understand.

"Did I ever tell you why I adjusted so quickly to the Muggle world?" Blaise had asked.

"You've been pretty excited about being a part of it, and that's all I really know. I figured you'd tell me when you were ready," Hermione explained, and she kept her mouth shut about how badly she wanted to interrogate him until she learned more. The topic at hand of Wizarding politics was intriguing, in a way that politics were fascinating: a little convoluted, with lots of details.

"I was excommunicated because I fought in the War against Voldemort…on the side of the light. Everyone thought I was a traitor and so, I was thoroughly cut off. I had to make it or I'd probably die," Blaise started, and Hermione was captivated as he went on about the story of his adjustment.

The rest of the night was full of their snarky, rapid-fire banter; talking to him made sense and was definitely the chemistry Hermione looked for in a relationship; it was fascinating to hear him talk passionately about what he cared about, without having to worry about Hermione's judgment of him. It was a breath of fresh air to listen without worry. It was mostly about Constance and how their relationship would change.

"I worry about her," Blaise had explained, "because she doesn't really like a lot of people and she really hates authority."

"That sounds really difficult. I want to give more advice but all I can offer now is my emotional support," Hermione offered, and she hoped that was enough. She found being unhelpful in stressful situations, ironically, pretty stressful: all she wanted was to contribute and at least be a part of the dynamic. She had high expectations for this relationship and she wanted to make sure she put enough effort in succeeding at being a good wife, even if she was going to be a nontraditional one.

Even though dinner had ended, Hermione buzzed with newfound energy; she was vibrating and it was difficult to sleep even though Blaise had fallen asleep with more significant ease. She was still what she'd call over-stimulated: too hyped up to relax, but with a strange dash of anxiety of which she couldn't place.

In order to compose herself, she started writing to release every anxious thought she had buried itself in the recesses of her mind. It was in the form of a letter to Harry. Might as well hit two birds with one stone: write her anxiety and make sure to connect with Harry. She missed him: it was lonely being married without her friends. She'd also have to connect with Ron soon too. Hermione missed Ron's humor and warmth. His presence would be a welcome respite to the prickly and confusing nature Blaise's unpredictable moods. She liked Blaise well enough but she doubted her intuition, and herself, at times.

* * *

_Dear Harry,_

_I offer many apologies for not getting in contact with you. I can't believe how much time has passed since I've seen you. How are you coping being married? I don't even know who you married. I married Blaise Zabini. And I know what you're thinking: But Hermione! He's a Slytherin pureblood. How do you even manage? Surprisingly well, thank you very much. He's a lot more nuanced than you'd expect. Although he's not perfect-he's moody and aloof, making him hard to read and connect with-I can't imagine anyone else I'd rather marry. Maybe you or Ron, to make the whole marriage law situation easier. _

_I wish I had the energy to care more about being married. It's not as exciting or as thrilling as I wished it was. I wanted more from it. Maybe something fulfilling, from a person I immediately found a spark with. There's definitely a connection with Blaise but I wish it wasn't such hard work getting to know him. What do we even have in common? We co-existed at Hogwarts, barely even interacting. And he hated "my kind"-Muggleborn witches. He was friends with the worst of the worst when we were at school...but he seems reformed now. Is everything as it seems? I can't know for certain. I can't know anything for certain, and it's pretty depressing. You know how much I like routine. I don't mind it being shaken up some of the time, but to never know how to prepare is the antithesis of who I am as a person. _

_Maybe your marriage is going better. For my sake and yours I hope so. I wish to hear from you soon. My address is on the return stamp of the letter. Please keep in touch._

_Your friend,_

_Hermione_

* * *

She was content with the contents of the letter, and she did intend to send it eventually. It was late now-almost one am, and she rarely stayed up this late unless absolutely necessary, which it wasn't at this moment-and Hermione figured she'd go get some rest now. The morning would hopefully have more to offer than anxiety.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Although I haven't been able to respond to recent positive reviews, I've read them and I'm deeply grateful for them. I can't promise the ability to respond in the future but know I read them and take the constructive criticism to heart. I disregard anything that isn't constructive or helpful, and I don't take it to heart if you don't like the story in any way. **

* * *

The sun rose, warm golden light filtering through the windows. Hermione woke up refreshed. It was six forty five, but Hermione was always an early riser. She and Blaise had slept in the same room, but one that had two twin beds, both pushed to the opposite walls of the minimalist room. Blaise had still been asleep when she woke, so she let him sleep some more. She made her way to the kitchen to make herself breakfast. Hermione expected to sit alone, as she had a prediction that Blaise would be up in a brisk forty five minutes. It was an educated guess, and Hermione made a lot of those. As a particularly detail oriented Virgo, she remembered more than she let on: Blaise had mentioned being an early riser as well, and that stuck. Constance was likely to be up in at least three hours. Like most teens, she undoubtedly cherished her sleep.

Hermione relished the quaintness of the cottage despite its lack of decoration. She was determined still had gone down the stairs from the

What she didn't expect was to see Constance sitting alone in the living room. She had claimed a seat on the couch in the living room. Although Hermione wasn't sure why

"Hermione, I can explain why I'm up so early," Constance greeted Hermione with an unexpected frantic energy. She was squirming in her seat, fidgeting with what looked like a lukewarm cup of tea.

"...Good morning to you too?" Hermione responded, briefly forgetting that her tone was a little too snarky for the amount of anxiety Constance seemed to have. Constance deflated a little; the obvious crestfallen look on her face sent a pang of guilt into Hermione's chest. She sat.

"Sorry about the snark. Just a little thrown off guard. Are you okay, Constance?" The apology was genuine enough that the visible change of Constance's body language into something more relaxed Hermione asked, more aware than ever about the importance of keeping her tone more serious this time.

"Yes and no," said Constance, which was a puzzling response if Hermione ever knew one.

"What do you mean? Are you sure everything's okay?" Hermione wondered if Constance had a secret. It was best to try and coax it out of her without resorting to anger or worse, panic.

"Mother's been calling, asking about Blaise. And well...you know how he feels about her, don't you?" Constance explained, as if it was obvious. It should've been but Hermione had a lot on her mind.

"Somewhat. He doesn't talk of her much. I don't think he wants anything to do with her quite yet," Hermione stated. The story behind Mrs Zabini was a rapturous and strange one. She seemed like the villainous antagonist straight out of a melodramatic romance novel, and for that, Hermione was curious.

"What should we do to mitigate the stress of this situation?" Hermione asked. She needed to tread lightly. Constance shrugged.

"I don't know. I didn't think it through beyond simply not telling him until we're forced to," Constance said. Hermione would've been frustrated in the past at this kind of plan, which was effectively not planning, but for now it was what had to happen. At a later date, when she was able to let this digest a little more about the situation.

"Can you tell me more about your mother?" Hermione asked.

"Adalia Eglantine Zabini, maiden name unknown, was the kind of woman who struck fear into men's hearts," Constance started launching into what could only be a meticulously pre-planned speech.

"How so?" Hermione asked, surely walking into a landmine of chaos. Before Constance could focus on stories about her mother, the stairs started creaking. Blais was awake. Constance and Hermione were deathly silent, like the plague had fallen upon them.

"Morning, you two," Blaise greeted with a yawn. Both Constance and Hermione stared at Blaise for a few seconds too long. He gave both of them a confused look.

"Why are you two looking at me like that?" Blaise asked.

"No reason," Constance blurted. Blaise claimed a seat in between Constance and Hermione, having grabbed a cup of tea from the pot on the abandoned kitchen table.

"What Constance meant was...we were catching up and we were thrown off guard by your sudden entrance," Hermione said, supplementing Constance's statement.

"What were you two talking about?" Blaise asked, his tense body language betraying the casual tone of his voice. Constance and Hermione gave each other a look that said _I won't tell our little secret if you won't._

"Nothing interesting. Mostly getting to know you stuff. Did you know Constance's favorite color is magenta?" Hermione said, having lost her cool for a little too long. Blaise accepted the explanation and turned to Constance.

"Fern's been calling lately by the way. She's asking for you," Blaise said, completely changing the subject without warning.

"What has she been asking about?" Constance asked, sipping her tea.

"You've been away from home for a few days now. Fern has been worried about you, and she can't keep lying to Mother and Father," Blaise continued. Constance sighed.

"Okay, whatever. I'll call Fern, but I refuse to talk to anyone else on the matter," Constance said. Hermione knew why she wasn't in a good mood, and although it made sense, her attitude wasn't particularly fair.

"What's with the tone, Constance? This attitude isn't like you," Blaise retorted. He was getting fired up, Hermione noticed, and Constance was no doubt on the defensive. A part of Hermione knew she'd have to

"I'm in a bad mood," Constance said, her voice curt. She pursed her lips and furrowed her brows, and she didn't even make an attempt to make eye contact with neither Blaise nor Hermione. From the tense look on Blaise's face, Hermione expected an epic meltdown if they were to continue to bicker.

"I think it would be a good idea for you to decompress in your own space until you're feeling better," Hermione said, interrupting what was going to be something awful going down.

Constance stalked upstairs, her movements stiff and jerky.

"Why do you think Constance is in such a bad mood?" Blaise asked in a huff. Hermione wanted to react, to tell him everything she had just talked about with Constance. But she wasn't sure how well he'd react, and Constance herself didn't even think about her plan about their mother in any thorough way.

"I don't know. Maybe she just woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Give her a little space, and I think she'll mellow out," Hermione said. Blaise seemed a little concerned, but confused.

"When should I attempt to talk with her?" He sounded sincere, and that helped Hermione relax.

"A few hours at least. We should let her gather her thoughts so, when she's ready, she'll be able to talk more coherently and thoroughly," Hermione explained, and the tension in Blaise's shoulders dissipated.

The rest of the morning went a little more smoothly.

"Are you hungry?" Hermione asked in an attempt to focus on something, anything, other than Adaline.

"Sure. I think I'll start cooking breakfast," Blaise said, an off-handed tone that made him seem in an okay mood.

"I didn't know you cooked," Hermione said with a light laugh.

"I can prove it to you," Blaise retorted, his voice light-hearted. Hermione hoped his good mood lasted. They walked to the kitchen. Although it was scant in size, Hermione found herself surprised to notice it was fully stocked with pots, pans, utensils, a refrigerator and freezer.

She was relieved to see that the walls had different wallpaper than the rest of the house. Instead of an outdated, peeling paint job, the wallpaper seemed new and half-way modern with a pale but matronly floral pattern. There was an ancient, dusty landline attached to the wall closest to the door that opened to the kitchen. Hermione found it quaint that the whole house felt like a time capsule to a cozier, less stressful time in the distant past.

"Can I be useful?" Hermione asked. She had spent a few moments getting used to the layout f

"Sure. You can grab the pots and pans. I'll grab the ingredients. Are you an omelette person, Hermione?" Blaise started darting across the kitchen, no doubt excited to show off his skill.

"Yeah, I'll eat about anything right now." Hermione grabbed the pots and pans, setting them gingerly on the gas stove. Blaise cooking was a sight to behold. It was clear he had a lot of practice, not to mention a lot of passion, and Hermione struggled to keep up. She let him work his magic; even more impressive was the fact that Hermione didn't think Blaise used magic, despite the idiom she had used. Delicious aromas of meticulously cooked eggs and vegetables sauteed with garlic and onion filled Hermione's nose. Her stomach began to growl. However, she was interrupted by the harsh ring of the landline.

"I'll get it," Hermione said, and Blaise gave a nod of approval.

"Hello there! Who, may I ask, is calling?" Hermione wasn't good at faking a chipper attitude, but then again, authenticity was key for a phone call to mask the disinterest laying beneath the layers of anxiety and confusion.

"I'm the owner of this little cottage. What makes you think I should answer that?" The voice, sultry in its raspy alto, barked at her. Hermione, appalled, turned the clunky landline away from her mouth to talk with Blaise.

"There's a vile-sounding woman barking at me on the phone. She claims to be the owner of this cottage, and I'm feeling disagreeable about the claim," Hermione explained in a huff. Blaise dropped a spatula on the floor and pivoted to face her so fast, he nearly left skid marks on the already scuffed linoleum floors. Blaise snatched the landline out of Hermione's hands. She barely had time to react.

"Merlin be damned, Mother, why are you acting like this?" Blaise hissed, and the anger was palpable, thick enough to cut with a steak knife. Hermione wrung her hands.

"Yes, I want you to let me live here. No, I'm not going to tell you who I married. You can calm down now." Blaise's anger peaked, and the longer he was silent the more his blood boiled.

"Take Constance in two days. That's final. I mean it! Two days, Mother. I can't take her forever, even though I want to." The rough cadence of his voice was frightening: this kind of anger didn't come from thin air. There was a frightening fury to his tone, but somehow it suited him: deadly without preparation, authentic and intense enough to stick.

BLaise softened when he said, "I'm...overwhelmed, okay?" There's only so much I can take in a short phone call. Let's finish this conversation when we're both a little less emotional. None of this behavior is a good look on us. Call me back soon." Blaise sat the phone down and left the kitchen altogether, not before turning everything. No one wanted accidental arson or vandalism on their hands.

Blaise sunk into the couch, head in his hands. His breaths were even and deep, a desperate attempt to keep his cool. Hermione had followed him, sitting next to him and rubbing his back in that soothing way most people liked. He leaned into her touch and placed his head on her shoulder. He let out a shaky sigh.

"Mother is coming in two days," Blaise said. There was no emotion to his voice, only numbness.

"I...wow. I can't believe it," Hermione said, genuine in her speechlessness.

"Let's not tell Constance quite yet. I can barely handle this, and I'm not sure how she will," Blaise said to no one in particular. Hermione nodded in agreement. She kissed his forehead.

"With me by your side, we can do anything." Hermione wraps her arm around Blaise's body, and gave him a little squeeze. They could both only hope for the best.


End file.
